


Wings to the Fractured Mind

by An_Author



Series: A Soul to the Universe [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Dark Comedy, Drama, F/M, Humor, Sexual Humor, Unresolved Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-28
Updated: 2013-11-22
Packaged: 2017-12-21 15:53:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 27,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/902100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/An_Author/pseuds/An_Author
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shannon Byrns has settled nicely into life at 221 Baker Street, Apartment C, with the consulting detective and doctor - so much so that they, in their own way, operate as an awkward family unit.  She decidedly continues to delve deeper into the Phantom program that her brother left for her so that she can understand who and what she has become all while trying to be the voice of reason to the Baker Street Boys.</p>
<p>When Jim Moriarty comes to call and decides that he wants to play with Sherlock, Shannon finds herself left in an extreme situation that she wishes was avoidable.</p>
<p>Shannon, Sherlock, and John are now in the midst of the fall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blogger's Log

_Update:  8:03 AM_

_We’ve had our lodger here with Sherlock Holmes and me for just about two weeks now.  You know, we’ve become such fast friends that it certainly feels like I’ve known her for most of my life.  She genuinely is a gentle soul – even if what I do have to say makes her seem rough around the edges.  Far from it!_

_She landed a job working with one of the local symphonies and has done marvelously there.  Sherlock Holmes and I recently had the good fortune to attend one of the concerts where she was playing.  I swear that I could pick her out of the ensemble, (she’s a fantastic addition, mind you,) but Sherlock characteristically informed me that his ear is far more trained than mine AND that to say so was an insult to her capability as a player._

_Now, mind you, I wasn’t saying anything of the sort.  I get to hear her practice for a time every day and I think I can hear her out of everyone; not being rude – I WAS PAYING HER A COMPLIMENT!  But no, Sherlock Holmes knows best.  She’s also picked up a private studio and is dedicated to her students.  It’s inspiring, you know._

_I’ll refer to her as our lodger, because out of her privacy and request; you don’t need to know her name.  She is, however, going with us on our ‘adventures’ and becoming instrumental in cases.  I always find it interesting that, with Sherlock and I approaching the topics of anatomy and the like being well versed in them, that we are able to get another perspective to what is viewed for clues.  I’m not saying that Sherlock Holmes is sub-par, but she’s different.  I truly admire her for it.  She’s quite a lovely woman._

_The detective and I have an engagement to attend to later today at Scotland Yard.  He is being recognized for his efforts in the Ricoletti case and has been asked to appear for a small press release.  Here’s to hoping that the man doesn’t overly insult anyone today._

 

John Watson looked up from his laptop screen and over to where Shannon was laying on the couch with her headphones in.  She was listening to one of the tracks from the Phantom and Geist project.  Outside of that first track she listened to, her reactions were far milder.  The most she did after tearing the flat apart was sucker-punch him in the face.  _To be fair, I was standing right in front of her and; Sherlock did warn me about it._   To be safe, after punching John, the boys on her request had purchased a series of belts that were used to restrain her.  Whoever was home would carefully bind her arms to her torso, set her down on the couch, and then do the same to her legs.  The coffee table was often moved as a precaution – the less that was broken in the flat, the better.  It was bad enough that Shannon explained to Mrs. Hudson after her weekend trip what had happened.  
Was it the worst thing that had happened at Baker Street?  Highly unlikely.  The principle of the matter, though, was what mattered.

She was breathing slowly and seemed quite relaxed.  He thought back again to the first few nights after she listened to the white noise.  Under Sherlock’s advisement so that she could be under observation, Shannon had spent that night in his room.  It was an odd request; but of course, _logically_ it made sense to the pair of them.  Shannon didn’t balk at all – she had calmly changed and returned to go fast asleep.  It didn’t help that Sherlock had drugged her.  Minor details.  Sherlock made the same request for the next three days and didn’t stray too far from her.  She was constantly under his scrutiny.  John thought it odd, really.  Sherlock had been – hovering.  _It might be bizarre to me since I’m probably immune to it._   Then suddenly, it stopped.

His behaviour didn’t particularly change.  Every so often when John had work in the morning, he would notice Sherlock’s things not on the bannister to indicate he was out and about.  Sherlock had his quirks.  God did he know it.  Considering that there was a woman _and_ it was Shannon, it didn’t surprise him that Sherlock would go out on walks to think.  Shannon’s case was rather extensive.

All but the handler had been apprehended.  That Lisa woman was still at large and roaming about.  There was no doubt that by this point, she knew that she was being hunted.  Bruno, however, had proved to be more beneficial to the Baker Street Trio than imagined: he gave up nearly everything that he knew to them because John had managed to scare him so badly.

It was amusing, actually – Sherlock and Shannon may have possibly let Bruno infer that John was an underboss for some mafia family.  Bruno wasn’t the brightest crayon in the box, you see; and he felt that a mafia family he’d never heard of was legitimately something to fear.  Especially because Sherlock had been so convincing with the _family’s_ credentials, Bruno bawled like an infant and spilled his guts.

The mysterious Boss is never named in their mad escapades and none of the men really disclose what he looks like.  Shannon was getting closer to the answers every day. At some of the most random times in the day, Shannon would completely stop what she was doing and this wide-eyed expression would overtake her.  An epiphany, she called them, would whiz by faster than she should be able to comprehend – but she would start sputtering fragments of information at incredible speeds.  The first time it happened it took John and Sherlock by surprise, and it took them a good hour or so to make sense of her rambling.  Since then, Shannon started carrying a decent recorder around with her; at the slightest inkling of one of these epiphanies, she would press play and let it do its job so that the information could be dissected later.

Since then, Sherlock had found the missing banker.  At the press release which John had dragged him to, Sherlock acquired a tie pin.  A week or so later, Sherlock had dropped off a present for Scotland Yard with Peter Ricoletti figuratively wrapped in a bow.  This morning after Sherlock got back from his outing, he and John were scheduled to be at the Yard to receive another gift of gratitude.


	2. Now You Can See Me

John’s attention was grabbed by Shannon as she struggled against her bindings now that the track was done playing.  John got up and turned on the video camera to capture any odd movements that she’d make because Sherlock was cataloguing all of this for his data collection.  She struggled against the belts and rolled herself off the couch to the floor with a hard thud.  She muttered some things to herself about Geist and rolled around.  John chuckled, saved his post as a draft, and finished eating breakfast.

Sherlock meandered up the stairs and found Shannon face down on the floor with John having finished his breakfast.  “Productive morning?”

“So far,” John spoke with his mouth full.  “She’s not really tried to thrash about.  She muttered some things, but I’ve got the recorder going.  Remember, you and I have to go to Scotland Yard this morning.”

Sherlock scoffed, “I detest these things.  I don’t see the point of it all.  I’m doing my job.”  He tossed his coat, jacket, and scarf on the small chair next to the doorway.

“Yes, well, people are paying attention now, Sherlock – and since you nabbed Ricoletti and gave him to the Yard, they want to show their appreciation.  You have to go.”

“No I don’t,” he grumbled childishly as he picked Shannon up off the floor and plopped her roughly onto the couch.  “It’s ridiculous that you convince me to go to these things.”

“Lestrade requested that you go,” John reminded.

“So?”

“Sherlock, stop being so obstinate.”

He frowned, moved to the kitchen, and reappeared with a few sausages in hand.  “How is she?”

“Fine, I think.  Outside of that muttering and all, she didn’t do much of anything.  How many tracks does she have left to listen to?” John asked patiently.

Sherlock thought for a moment as he ate, “At this point, she should have two tracks left, I believe.”

Shannon groaned loudly as she rolled over and continued to mutter to herself.  “Hurry up and eat, we have to leave soon.”

The detective made a point to drag his feet as much as possible to delay their departure.  They left quietly, as much as they could with Sherlock’s moaning, and left Shannon lying on the couch.  Not long after, she woke up and undid her bindings.  The lazy stretch that followed had her back pop deliciously and her shoulders rolled backward.  She stood up to turn off the camera, smelled the sausages, went to the kitchen and made herself some breakfast.  _Sherlock must have been home.  John doesn’t eat that much normally.  I should be grateful that I got any at all._

She displayed a small smile whilst chewing her food.  With her laptop booting up and the paper beside her, she opened the bookmarked website with the live feed from Sherlock and John’s press moment at Scotland Yard.  Shannon wasn’t overly keen on all the publicity the boys were getting lately.  She flat out refused to go to any public event – she didn’t need her face plastered everywhere, especially with Phantom and Geist still hanging in the balance.  John, however, was doing his best to show off his friend to everyone so that they would understand how truly remarkable Sherlock was.

She understood his reasons – Sherlock for so long had been _the freak_ in his life; John and Shannon both appreciated the detective for whom and what he was.  They had their spats with each other, sure.  Just last week, Shannon and John ended up having a yelling match about bread and Sherlock had to come in to break them up.  It was stupid, really, but the pair of them had been agitating the other for a few days and John had asked her to buy a specific type of bread, she admittedly forgot the kind, and brought home the wrong one.  John had been hovering around her quite a lot at that point and he was sick of hearing her practice the same 19 measures of music over and over.  Cue verbal explosion.  
Sherlock was genuinely surprised when John had snapped at Shannon, and yet not surprised at all when Shannon came back verbally swinging.  Immediately he was up and in the kitchen to separate them for fear of what she would do to John.  They had all been victim to a swing from her at one point.

When Shannon and Sherlock got testy with one another, they fought it out.  One or the other would say it was time to hit a mat, they would go to a nearby gym, and spar out their frustrations; talking out their issues when they weren’t trying to physically jab the other.  
John and Sherlock would do their very bromance thing and ignore each other for a few hours, (or days depending,) and then go about back to their regular business.

‘ _Peter Ricoletti: number one on Interpol’s Most Wanted list since 1982.  But we got him; and there’s one person we have to thank for giving us the decisive leads…with all his customary diplomacy and tact…’_

Shannon snorted as she watched Sherlock stand there uncomfortably with his trusty sidekick beside him.  The pair of them whispered something to each other, then suddenly people were chanting “Put it on”.  She looked to the screen again to find Sherlock grimacing at a deerstalker in his hands.  John had to have said something along the lines of _‘Suck it up’_ because Sherlock placed the cap on his head and looked thoroughly put out.  He was going to be sordid today.  Lovely.

Shannon stood up and felt light headed.  She quickly ran to the recorder and turned it on to do its work as she collapsed onto one of the chairs.  Her chest felt a little tight and she wondered what exactly was going to happen this time around.  Her head began to spin and searing pain not unlike a migraine flooded her.  She started talking quickly but she couldn’t hear herself; Shannon only knew what was happening because she could feel her mouth going dry.  High pitched ringing pierced her ears and skull splitting pain seared through her head.  The musician writhed in Sherlock’s chair until the episode passed and she could muster the strength to stand.

 _This one was brutal – it’s not been like this for over a month.  What the hell._   Her limbs shook unsteady as she carefully walked into the kitchen.  Her hands continued to tremor when she reached for a glass to get herself some water.  The glass shattered in her hand and the pieces fell into the sink.  She turned her hand over and was thankful she hadn’t cut herself – that’s all she would need at this point.  She slid down the cabinets and plopped herself on the floor; her legs felt like molten lead.  _Just wait it out, it’ll pass.  Then John will be home.  It’ll be fine.  John will know what to do.  Christ.  This is a bitch._ Her lids grew heavy; suddenly she was asleep.

Shannon couldn’t exactly tell how much time had passed.  She could still hear the ringing in her ears but there was something else.  Oh yes, the boys were at the bottom of the stairs arguing about something.  She just needed to be reassured that there wasn’t any real mortal danger from this episode.  That – and if she didn’t let them know she was this ill; they’d not leave her be for a week.

“John,” she yelled weakly.  Her voice felt tired and strained, “John!”  There was a loud thunk and the sound of a heard of elephants on the stairs.  John rounded the corner quickly with little grace and skidded across the floor to be by her side.  Sherlock stood in the doorway and watched as John heaved her to her feet and got her into one of the kitchen chairs.  Sherlock left to go back to the lounge and started playing the footage from earlier.  “Just make sure I’m not going to die is all.”

John got her some water and checked over her.  She was still shaky and her body seemed to not know what it was doing.  John wrapped her arm over his shoulder and helped her to the couch.  She felt exhausted and it was only noon.  How incredibly awful – and she hated the boys doting over her.  It was annoying.  John kept making a fuss over her and trying to go the extra mile; almost like a good boyfriend.  It was annoying.  The constant fussing and probing and all…eesh.

“Stop doting,” Shannon croaked.  “I yelled for you because you’re a doctor, not because I needed a boyfriend to come by my side.  I just wanted to be sure I didn’t need the hospital.”

“Shannon, are you serious?!” John grumbled.  “Stop being so petty!  I’m just trying to help you!”  He tried to gingerly move her face to check for cuts of scrapes to no avail.

“John,” she growled as a warning.  Sherlock looked up quickly from the camcorder screen to view the pair of them on edge and bristled.  Shannon stood up and strode off to her room, slamming the door behind her.

“Fantastic.  FINE!  GO DOWN THERE AND SULK!” John hollered down the stairwell.  “What did I do, honestly?” he asked turning to the detective who had since put down the recorder and moved to sit in his chair, hands steepled at his mouth.

“She distinctly told you not to dote,” Sherlock reminded plainly, “She’s been here this long and still you try to faun over her – she obviously doesn’t like it.”

John pouted and replied sardonically, “I’m sure that you know exactly what goes on in her head – don’t you?  You obviously know what she likes and doesn’t.”

Memories from the pair’s sexual stimulant experiments flashed quickly in his mind.  He blinked lazily before replying nonchalantly, “Obviously.”

“Fine, you know what – I give up right now.  Between you being an absolute obstinate ass and her being so bloody temperamental lately, I give up.  The pair of you can go off and do whatever smart, aloof things you want to do tonight on your own.  I’m going out.  I have a date.  So there!” John huffed.

“You can do as you like, John,” Sherlock replied distantly.  He was deep in thought digesting the pieces from Shannon’s recording.  “But you don’t have a date tonight.  Wrong shoes.”

John groaned loudly and left Sherlock alone in the lounge – going to take solace in the silence of his own room.  After John’s door shut, Sherlock withdrew his mobile.

 

_Shannon Byrns:_

_Are you alright?  
-SH_

_Sherlock Holmes:_

_Is that a whiff of ‘care’ that I smell, Sherlock?_

_Shannon Byrns:_

_Absolutely not._   
_It’s customary to ask if one is okay after such an incident, yes?_   
_You have been so keen to remind me of societal pleasantries_   
_since you moved in to Baker Street._   
_-SH_

_Sherlock Holmes:_

_Thank you, I’m fine._   
_I’ll be up after he’s gone out._   
_And yes, he’ll be going out – he’s angry with me._   
_He’s been doing this lately … it’s habit at this point._

Sherlock felt a small amount of pride from Shannon’s rumblings with John.  They were certainly entertaining to him and she was doing so just to push the doctor’s buttons:  How far could she push the good doctor before he’d go off at her?

Admittedly it was quite a great deal of antagonizing, for Shannon could be trying for a solid week before getting under his skin.  Sherlock could take seconds – she’d be as stellar as he one day.

It was also true that she didn’t like to be doted on – it made her slightly uncomfortable when John would try and gift her things, (especially after Sherlock had bought all her furniture to which she begged to pay for).  She wasn’t one that cared to be the direct center of attention until that moment when she had a solo with the symphony; and yet, even then she would argue that she was merely an extension of the sound and not even herself.

Simply put – Shannon Byrns was an enigma and Sherlock Holmes quite enjoyed it.  _Enjoy?  You enjoy the fact that she’s a pain?  I enjoy the fact that she is far superior to me in music, astronomy and geology?   Hardly.  I tolerate her, don’t I?  No.  No – it’s not like that at all.  Though the shag experiment seems to be working out well for the both of us.  And two months later, John hasn’t figured out yet that I’m not going on walks first thing in the morning.  I’m an idiot._   But yes, she was an enigma.

He sat there deep in thought as he contemplated her case more thoroughly.  The elusive handler would need to be caught and soon.  As long as she was still meandering around freely, Shannon would have to constantly be on her guard.  She was always on her toes anyway but he had to gather that a time where she could go back to being herself without threat of harm or death would be nice.

The click of John’s door and the thud of the front door were enough indication for Shannon to come back upstairs and have a sit down with the detective.  When she entered the room, his phone was sitting on the arm of the chair, his fingertips pressed together against his lips, and his eyes were closed.  She walked silently to John’s chair, sat down, and waited for him to reemerge from his thoughts.  Casually, she thumbed through one of the newspapers while she waited.

Again, a normal person would be absolutely agitated with Holmes at this point: not Shannon.  It was best to not interrupt him when he was deep in his thoughts; not only did it break his concentration but he would be in the worst of moods.  When his eyes opened abruptly a moment later, she looked over the top of her paper and locked eyes with him.

“I think you should be careful, Sherlock,” Shannon responded politely as she set the paper down in her lap.  "You’re getting quite a bit of attention lately.  I can’t tangibly explain it, you see – it’s a gut feeling; I have a really bad feeling about this.”

“Why?” he asked objectively.

She shook her head and shrugged, “I’m not sure.  I just want you to make an effort to be more careful, if you don’t mind.  There’s a lot of press surrounding you now.  It was different when only you were posting information about yourself.  But now that John blogs and the media has its attention on you…”

He nodded, “If it bothers you so much and your intuition seems to be barking at you, then I suppose I should take care.  You haven’t been wrong in your tenure here…”

“Thank you.  Also…”

“…except when I asked you to hand me the sodium and you handed me the magnesium instead.”

“Alright,” she interjected by pointing her finger at him, “Now in my defense, sir, you asked me to hand you the vial to my right and I did so.  You know I’m not a chemistry wizard.  That was your own fault.  As I was saying, also – I think it best that I go out hunting for Lisa soon.  Things have been too quiet.”

“Shannon, I have to discourage that for now.  You don’t know if you’ll be safe on your own,” he protested factually.

“Because I can’t take care of myself, obviously,” she chided.  “Need I remind you that you have only been able to pin me once?”

He pondered a moment before smirking at her, “You’re not including every time you’ve been pinned on your bed, I imagine.  If you were, those odds would be drastically different.”

“Sherlock Holmes, you are not funny.  At all,” she scoffed in mock agitation.  She cleared her throat to indicate that the subject matter would move from playful to serious.  “I have this thing in my head,” she began, “I can’t explain it.  But there’re things there that I know that I’ve always known – in my head.  Like right now, I know the entire procedure and such to pack a parachute and redeploy it to go parachuting.  Why?  I don’t know.  I also feel like I know how to apply makeup prosthetics and know all of this intricate…….shit.”

He furrowed his brow when he leaned forward on his knees, “Do you know why?”

“Not a clue yet,” she replied sadly.  “There’s all this ‘stuff’ up here that I know that I know how to do but have never done.  But I constantly feel as if I am standing on the precipice of this chasm with nothing to stop me.  There’s a hole in my stomach and it has me on edge.”

Sherlock found that, regardless if he believed in gut reactions or not, Shannon had impeccable instinct.  Her reactions to certain situations were exceedingly keen and accurate; and, with her on edge, he could be sure that whatever was causing her uneasiness would soon surface.  She leaned backward in John’s chair, tucking her legs under her.  Sherlock would never openly admit it, but he enjoyed her and most of her quirks – like that: she always would find a way to tuck her legs under her, regardless of where she was sitting, with the grace of a cat.

The musician noticed his glance lasted slightly longer than usual.  “Sherlock Holmes, your fondness is showing.  Stop it,” she reprimanded him lightly with a small smile.

“It is not,” he argued obstinately, “I’m not fond of you.  It’s a sign of weakness.”

“Whatever you say,” she responded, “Just know that I can read you better than a book.  So whenever you feel like you are ready to stop lying to both of us, I’m here.”  She always liked this challenging banter between them.  Sherlock was constantly rejecting her hypothesis about him having a heart.  But just there underneath those cool, calm, and analytical eyes could she see what truly mattered to him.  She didn’t ever need say it to him outright – eventually he would come to terms with it and swallow his pride to admit his humanity existed.  Better yet, she knew that he enjoyed her banter – the odds of it ceasing were nil.

He heard the key click and looked quickly away from her before observing her features again, “That would be John.”

“I know, Captain Obvious,” she goaded.  John stomped up the stairs and found the pair of them sitting amicably together.

“Shannon, look,” John started with authority.

She interjected, “Shut up, John.  I’m over it.”

He paused deflated, scowled, and then started again, “Look, I hate you sometimes.”

“Good,” she chimed in, “It’s a good thing we aren’t dating.”

He crossed his arms and bit the side of his cheek, “That’s it then?”

“That’s it,” she replied nonchalantly.  “And stop pouting – we will not be having a domestic anything, now will we?”

He groaned and plopped onto the couch to pick up a paper.  “The both of you.  Damn you both.”

Sherlock watched over John as the two of them finished verbally sparring.  He could see that John was fond of her, it was blatantly obvious.  Shannon complimented and contrasted John, _Much like she does me, well and it was only natural for him to be attracted to her.  My simple attraction to her is proving to be scientifically beneficial._   John spoke of her fondly often and Sherlock knew that he wanted to ask her on a date in the worst way.  
She however, in typical Shannon fashion, was always twenty steps ahead of him and would begin to grate on his nerves when she got the suspicion that he would try to ask her out soon.  It was a slow revolving door that Sherlock took in stride as part of their living arrangement.

“Shannon and I have been sleeping together,” Sherlock stated coolly.  Shannon choked on herself and looked to the detective with wide, warning eyes.

John glared over the top of his paper at Sherlock, “You don’t really have a sense of humor.  Honestly, I know you’ve been sleeping together, remember?  I apologized to you some weeks back about that, you prick.”

Shannon eyed Sherlock furiously, her facial features placid, and mouthed _Timing_ to him.  Sherlock shrugged and closed his eyes, retreating to his thoughts.

She glared at him as she stood up and punched him in the shoulder.  She walked over to John and sat beside him with her hands folded in her lap.

“I know you are irate with me, justifiably so.  You have to understand, John, that my relationship with you is platonic.”  He flicked his paper open in agitation.  “And you will listen to me as I explain myself,” she growled as she ripped the paper out of his hands.  Sherlock immediately looked over to watch the pair of them in the event he would have to intervene.

John rolled his eyes, leaned back on the couch and grumbled, “Fine.  I’m all ears to hear what’s wrong with me as to why you won’t let me ask you out on a date.  Please.”  The agitation and underlying hurt seeped into his voice.

Shannon squared her shoulders off and reasserted herself, “John, you listen to me.  I have an innate way of screwing everything up.  Don’t you get it?  I screwed up and my brother’s dead; I am being hunted in a fashion – let me take care of whatever this is,” she tapped to her temple, “Before you go judging me for not taking care of this.”  She tapped above her heart lightly.  “I’m not inhuman, John – I do understand what it is you want and I won’t deny that there isn’t some sort of connection there, but you need to realize…”

Sherlock’s brain homed in on the latter chunk of her statement and he ignored the rest of what she was saying.  _There’s some sort of connection?  Between them?  It’s strictly platonic, of course, it would have to be.  She is far too above him – no offense to John.  There’s no feasible way that they pair of them could coexist as a unit.  The three of us together, yes – there’s a sense of balance there.  She would get bored and he would get angry with her.  How could I possibly justify what is going on in her head?  I’m Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective; that’s why.  I know her about as well as she knows herself.  For that matter, I know her better than you.  Mentally, emotionally, and physically.  He can’t possibly think that he’d be happy with her and that she’d be willing to settle down with him; that’s what people do, isn’t it?_  
 _Lestrade has even given up his valiantly poor effort at trying to woo her.  She was polite and said No to him more than once for the Inspector to get the hint.  Gentlemanly and all, Lestrade knew when to bow out.  John is more tenacious, however.  It may possibly be one of the facets of John that she does find attractive because it compliments her own tenacity._  
 _She’s not being polite, she’s being honest!  What is this?  I’m not jealous.  Not at all.  I’m not fond of her because I don’t care.  She’s free to do as she pleases – and have relations with anyone she desires.  I don’t care._

His mind fired off that train of thought systematically within moments and then he was focused on their conversation again.  John was apologizing for being forward and an ass while she was apologetic for her actions.  They were fine.  Simple as that.  It agitated him.

Shannon stood to stare at him, “Do not start shit while I’m off teaching tonight – do you hear me?  Both of you.  I’m serious – I’m going to be beyond furious if I have to cancel a lesson tonight.”

She left to go to her room to change and grab her trumpet gear.  John gave a sideways glance to Sherlock when he heard the front door close behind her, “How was your chat?”

Sherlock’s acute eyes looked about the room as he stood up and walked to the bulletin board he had tacked to the wall with notes from her case.  “She’s on edge – she has another one of her famous gut feelings.”

John nodded, “Do you know why?”

“No,” he commented casually, scanning her board thoroughly for what seemed like the billionth time, “But I am sure that it will be coming to light soon.  There’s something here staring me in the face.”  He pointed angrily at the board, “Why can’t I see it?  All of these threads are connected to something and someone.”

“Almost like that Jim Moriarty twat,” John responded off the cuff as he flipped through the contacts in his phone.

The detective’s head snapped around quickly at his friend, “What did you say?”

John paused while he was digging his tongue into the corner of his lip, “What?  Moriarty?  It’s almost like one of those outrageously concocted chain of events he planned.  You know…when you saved me in the pool?”

“I know what you’re talking about,” he retorted crisply as he spun around to look at the board again, “Oh God!”  His voice boomed through the flat, “Something this extravagant?!  How interesting!”

John ignored his partner’s antics and called a restaurant to get a reservation for three that night.


	3. Splintered

Shannon had accumulated a nice sized studio of private music students in the couple weeks she had been in the country.  She was gigging semi-regularly again and it gave her time to think while paying homage to her brother.

To be honest, she was finding it more and more difficult to concentrate on catching her brother’s killer and avenging him.  It was now more about finding out what Phantom could do if she decided to follow through with the Geist program.  The precipice that she referenced to Sherlock was the uncertainty of what she could and would become if she activated herself.  There were only two tracks left.  Matt would have given her a choice to decide – the problem was this: which was which?

She knew, somehow, that if she enacted Geist – Sherlock and John were in immediate danger as were other lives.  Not doing so could also mean that lives were in jeopardy if she didn’t follow through with Matt’s plan.  It was terrifying to her: what if she hurt the people she lived with and considered he friends?  Better yet, what would happen if she was the cause of their deaths?  How could she live with that?  How could she let herself be taken over to be okay with living with that?

Her five lessons for the afternoon and evening came and went with spectacular speed – her students were spectacular, dedicated, and all around better than everyone else’s.  _Of course they are – they’re my students.  My students are better…duh._   After her last lesson, she checked her cell phone to find missed messages.

 

_Shannon:_

_I made reservations at a restaurant for the three of us tonight._  
 _Figured I can at least try to make up for being an ass._  
 _Let one of us know when you’re on your way back._

_Shannon Byrns:_

_John made reservations at the seafood place you like._  
 _We need to have a discussion later._  
 _-SH_

_John Watson; Sherlock Holmes_

_I’m leaving now, boys._

_Marvelous.  Now what?_    Her mind started racing to try and decipher Sherlock’s last message.  There were only so many reasons that he could use that ‘tone’ in his text to her.  She hated that sort of ambiguity with him; he’d done well the past month or so to not send her any texts like that.

She’d hopped on the Tube and made her way to Baker Street Station to drop off her bags and meet up with the boys.  It was an uneventful trip which she was thankful for – her mind was flashing hundreds of memories at her with Mach speed.  Her headphones were playing some soft cool jazz in her ears.  This was the sort of day, _Minus this morning_ , that she loved to have while she was in London.  The three of them would do their own thing most of the day; then at night, pending Sherlock’s mood have dinner as a dysfunctional family.

When she got off the Tube at Baker Street Station, Shannon was shoved hard as she crossed the gap’s threshold.  It’s not entirely uncommon for that to happen when it’s at peak hours; but that was just rude – Londoner or not.  Shannon quickly checked to make sure her trumpet bag hadn’t been hit and turned to give the person who had shouldered her a rather nasty glare.  To her surprise it was a woman and her face was familiar.

Her memory quickly flashed before her eyes to show her any and all faces that could be even remotely close to similar in structure.  _God damn it.  Why?  Why did it have to be you?  Of all days – honestly._

“You had red hair the last time I saw any glimpse of you,” Shannon uttered in a grumble.  She locked eyes with the stranger.  If it were possible, she’d have bored holes into her soul to kill her.  “Lisa, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you, face to face.”

The woman had jet black hair and dressed in a modest skirt suit.  Her dazzling green eyes pierced through Shannon’s intended hatred, “You do realize that I’ve been protecting you, right?”

Shannon stiffened and started to walk with her keeping a good eight feet or so between them.  “Protecting me?  You don’t understand what that word means, do you?”

“Little girl, you have no idea what is going to happen in the grand scheme of it, do you?  Of course not.  You have been too focused on you lately.  Usually, that’s how you should think – but not right now.  There are other factors that have come to light,” she retorted smugly.  “Besides, you can be dealt with whenever if Boss feels like it.  I’ve been protecting you because it’s not time for you yet.  There are plans for you yet, Shannon Byrns.”

They got outside and Shannon’s mind was buzzing.  “Whatever it is that you want – it won’t happen.”

“You think the great Sherlock Holmes is going to help you?  You are _gravely_ mistaken.  You silly, silly girl – when it’s all over, you’ll wonder how you didn’t see it,” Lisa chirped.

“I will make sure that I take every single one of you down; or, haven’t you noticed that your children are all sitting in Scotland Yard right now?”

“Occupational hazard – and none of them are _really_ that important.  They are the foot soldiers, really.  Me?  I’m one of the four-star generals.  I’m a right hand, you see – the grand clockmaker gave me the gift to help set things into motion.  You’ll see,” she soothed while she stepped closer to Shannon.

Shannon’s brain fired information across her eyes quickly while it was trying to both comprehend what was said and find a way to ensure she’d survive.  She took a step forward and watched as Lisa subtly flinched.

“You’re terrified,” Shannon growled.  “What kind of four-star general for your boss is afraid of a mark?  Tsk, tsk,” she seethed.  Shannon pressed her hand to her pocket and managed to speed dial one of the boys.

 

“Hello?” John asked.  “Shannon?  Did you pocket dial me?”

_“I’m not afraid of you, Shannon.”_

_“I beg to differ, Lisa; you are reeking of fear.  You know exactly what I’m capable of and that horrifies you.  Baker Street Station should make a nice resting place for you.”_

John’s eyes widened in surprise.  He dropped his mobile to the floor, picked it up nervously and ran from the lounge.  Before Sherlock could ask, John was out the door.  Deducting the urgency and John’s lack of communication, he quickly gathered his things and followed his friend outside.  John was running – _He never runs like this…at least not normally._

“John!”

“Shannon, Sherlock!  Keep up!  She found the handler!”

 

The two women stood just outside of the station entrance circling each other.  Shannon had gingerly dropped her trumpet gear to the ground in the event this would break out into a fight.  The boys should be on their way shortly.  _Please hurry, guys._   The fog was overtaking the city and soon, there’d be a thick blanket of it everywhere.  She knew that Lisa would wait it out and then have the fog on her side to disappear.

“Let me go, Shannon,” Lisa reprimanded in a motherly tone.  “It’s not time yet.”

“I hate you.  You people have turned my life upside-down,” she snarled.  “Why should I let you go?”

Lisa looked up at her with heavy lidded eyes, “If you don’t let me go, your boys will be killed on sight tonight.  It’s your choice.”

“You’re bluffing,” Shannon challenged, hoping for a response.

Lisa slowly backed away into a drift of fog until she disappeared, “Am I?  Are you willing to risk it?  We’ll see each other soon, Shannon.  Just you wait.”

She stood there on guard with the hair on the back of her neck on end.  She heard the sound of heavy, quick footsteps come round the corner.  “Shannon!”

“Watch my trumpet!” she cried but it was too late.  John tripped and was flung to the sidewalk.  She spun about, scooped up John as best she could and ushered him into the station.  “Sherlock Holmes!” she yelled.  _Where is he?_

He rounded the corner quickly where she grabbed him by his shoulder and threw him in after John.  She hurriedly collected her gear off the ground and backed away slowly into the station, surveying her surroundings with scrutiny.  Lisa, if she was still around, was hiding exceptionally well in the fog and now Shannon couldn’t see if there was anyone watching them.

She quickly shouldered her bags, grabbed the arms of her boys and dragged them to the Underground and got on the next set of cars, regardless of what line it was.  Sherlock went to protest, but Shannon’s face was forced into a hard determination and John’s glare silenced him.  When they entered their car, she moved them to the back and more or less threw them into a pair of seats.  She tossed them each a bag off her shoulders and stood between them, the windows, and the rest of the car.  Immediately, she scanned every crevice of their car and the other two people that were on with them.

“Shannon,” Sherlock stated.

“Silence,” she stung.  “Do not speak.”

He observed her elevated heart rate and the slight flare in her nostrils when she spoke.  She was worried about something.  _What happened, I wonder?  You don’t have any wounds or marks that I can see.  You aren’t limping; you don’t even seem to care that John stepped on your trumpet…what’s spooked you so captivatingly?_

After five stops, Shannon ushered them off, changed lines again, and did more of the same before coming to a small apartment complex somewhere in northwest London.  John and Sherlock followed in silence, (with John now carrying both of her bags,) up a long set of stairs to a stained door.  She withdrew a key from her phone case and opened the door to let them in.

When the trio were all inside, she took the bags off of John and set them on the unfolded card table to her left, leaving them to stand in the middle of what should be a living room.  Strewn about them were various boxes and kits of things.  She returned with a small first aid kit and motioned for John to come closer.

“Shannon, I’m fine.  I’m a doctor, I can take care of myself,” he commented softly.

“Sit,” she barked.  Immediately, John did as she commanded.  Sherlock had been looking out the window and spun his head around at her tone.

John had accrued a few nasty scrapes to his forearms and Shannon took care of them.  While John was preoccupied with her, Sherlock took the time to snoop about her boxes.

“How did you come by all of this?” he asked, picking up what looked like a parachute pack.

She glared up at him from her seat on the floor, “I wired the last of my money from home here and upped the price of my lessons.  The side gigs have been helping lately – I didn’t steal anything, if that’s what you’re inquiring.”  She watched him pick up a special effects make-up kit and flip in in his hands.  
“I told you that I was having these moments where I thought I knew how to do odd stuff.  Logically, I collected those things and tested my hypothesis.  I was right.  All this junk in here is all stuff that I know how to do up here,” she responded while pointing at her head.

She finished taping John’s bandages to stand up and stretch.  She peeked out the windows quickly and gawked about, “We weren’t followed.”

Sherlock’s face reflected a small amount of puzzlement while John stood and took in his surroundings, “Shannon – you’ve got another flat…how can you afford this?  And this stuff?”

She shrugged and walked over to her trumpet bag, “Carefully.”

John looked to her eyes and saw there was still something she wasn’t telling them, “Shannon, what happened?  What did she say?”

Sherlock wanted to tell her not to look, but he knew that was futile.  She would look anyway, regardless of what he could possibly say.  Slowly, she unzipped the soft, black case; she was frozen in apprehension.  She quickly flipped it open and inhaled sharply: it was a totaled mess.

 _If it had just been the bell…or even the lead pipe; I could have replaced that or reshaped it.  I can’t fix this – oh, you poor thing.  I can’t save you.  The second slide is flattened.  I wonder –_ She tried to depress the valves to no avail.  Shannon could feel the scraping on one of them, and the other two were bent and frozen in place.  _…thought not.  You had a good life, didn’t you?  I took you just about everywhere.  How I hated you, sometimes.  Most times, actually.  You were such a stubborn bitch.  I thought you’d go in a blaze of glory or some shit, you useless piece of metal.  I hate you._

A single tear fell down her cheek.  She wiped it away quickly when she heard John apologizing profusely.  “John, it was an accident.”

“I will pay to have it fixed,” John pleaded, “I’m so sorry, Shannon!  With the fog and your phone call –“

“John,” Sherlock warned calmly, “It’s totaled.  It’s done.  It needs all new parts and piping – it wouldn’t sound the same.”

John took the instrument out of its case, in awe of the damage he’d done.  “John, please don’t beat yourself up over it,” Shannon asked quietly, “It will actually be cheaper for me to get a new one than repair it.  And I’ve always hated that horn.”

“But,” he interjected, “It’s your horn!  How are you going to give lessons!?”

“I don’t always have to play in lessons, I’m pretty good at that teaching thing,” she laughed politely.  Sherlock could see through the candid charm that she was devastated.  Matt must have bought that horn for her.

“What spooked you?” Sherlock asked flatly.  John and Shannon turned slowly to stare at him, and then John looked to her.  “She had to have said something that spurred you to take action.  You practically threw the both of us into the station and then you were on the defensive the whole way here.  Logically, there are only one or two possible answers.”

She sighed exasperated, “Then why did you ask?”

_Oh God, those eyes of yours.  You could tell me that the world was ending and I would be okay with that because your eyes almost always manage to instill this bizarre sense of peace.  And you know what else, Shannon – you aggravate me because those SAME EYES always reflect back into me.  It’s annoying.  Oh, but I would think that with enough time; those eyes and ‘soul’ of yours would make me want to give you more than the world._

She locked eyes with him briefly before inhaling fully to speak, “John, Lisa threated your lives tonight.  She had said that if I wouldn’t let her go she’d have had you both killed.”

Any sense of warmth that had been in Sherlock’s eyes had dispersed and the cool, calculating form returned.  “Why did you let her go?  You could have easily apprehended her and she was bluffing.”

“With the fog, and her facial features or voice giving nothing away – you know I couldn’t have chanced that,” she chided.

“Shannon – my God, are you alright?” John asked quickly.

“Fine.  A little distraught that I’ll have to find another place to house all this stuff – but all things considered: fine.”

“What do you mean?” he puzzled.

Shannon gingerly picked up the side of her trumpet bag to reveal a small metal clip, “I assumed that I would be tracked here.  It was only a matter of time.  In the event that something were to happen, you know – I have things all planned out.  Now I have to find another place to rent.  No big deal.”

Sherlock clasped his hands behind his back while he walked to the window and gazed out to city night life.  He took the time to process information from tonight and put conversations into his mind palace quickly.

“Now, boys, I’m hungry.  Can we get something to eat?”  Shannon collected her effects and left with the boys a few minutes later.  She walked with her arm entwined with John’s as he continued to apologize about her trumpet. 

“John, I’d much rather hear about how your afternoon went than my trumpet – please.”


	4. Gone, Gone, Gone

The three of them arrived at the restaurant a little early and were seated.  All things considered, it was quite a normal dinner where they conversed amicably.  Sherlock watched her with a certain amount of intent because he knew that despite her best efforts to appear calm, internally she was a wreck.  There wasn’t any level of convincing that could tell him otherwise.  He knew her better than that by now.

Shannon peered over at the detective for a moment.  The emotion that he kept denying was concern was hidden masterfully in his eyes.  There was a glimmer of it – she could see it.  One day, Sherlock would give up trying to lie to her and everyone else, but until that day came she would continue to appreciate him more for who he was.  She stealthily placed her hand on his knee under the table and patted it gently.

These odd and almost inane displays of affection from her often took him by surprise, but tonight he realized this was about understanding.  She understood that he sympathized with her – he was a musician also; somehow that comforted her though he didn’t fully understand why.

John ate, Shannon picked at her food, and Sherlock abstained.  The good doctor insisted on picking up the tab then the three of them went home.  John sat comfortably in his chair in the lounge whilst Shannon and Sherlock sat at the kitchen table.  The pair of them talked quietly amongst themselves while John was doing his reading.

Sherlock was analyzing some samples that he had taken and experimented with earlier in the week.  Shannon sat across from him jotting down notes and such.  “When’s your next orchestra concert?”

She paused and thought for a moment, “Next week.  I should call Andy again, wire him some money, and have him send me the last of my horns.  I’ll let him know it’s safe to return to Boston also.”

“What makes you so sure?” he asked.  He already knew the answer and he is aware that she knows he knows.  It was simple conversation.

She frowned at his petty attempt at conversing.  “If they are willing to threaten you and John so blatantly, then their scope has shifted.  He’s important to me, but the parameters have changed.”  Shannon looked up from the notepaper, “Please feel free to remind me that I’m being an idiot.”

“You’re being an idiot,” he quipped plainly.  “You are letting your attachment and emotions get the better of you.”

“Thank you,” she grumbled, “I wasn’t aware that my humanity was getting the best of me.”  She went back to doodling on her notes, “What do we need to discuss?  Your text was ambiguous.”

His brow furrowed, “Your case is overwhelmingly complex.  There’s more to it than either you or I realize yet.  We need another clue.”

“I have been thinking, and that means you have also.  Matt would have given me a choice between enacting Geist or choosing to be me.  I feel that the last two tracks are just that: an enabler and a disabler.  The question is which track is which?”  Sherlock nodded in agreement.  “I’ve missed something, Sherlock.  What did I miss?”

He drummed against the table and looked up at her, “It must be in your music.  That’s the only logical place left.”

She groaned, “You know full well, as I do, that the information I seek could be one out of hundreds of thousands of songs I own AND THEN there’s more than likely a second song that could perpetuate its opposite result.”

Shannon stood up from the table and began pacing about.  She was wracking her brain to try and remember if there was anything that they had written down or recorded from her time at Baker Street.

“Stop pacing, it’s distracting.”

“Shut up, Holmes,” she hissed.  Her brain was moving nearly at the speed of light.  She was trying to home in on the first track she had listened to with Sherlock and John that had her brother’s voice on it.  There had to be something that she missed.  She left without a word and went downstairs to her room to collect her mp3 player.  He had mentioned something at the end of his speech.  _Could that possibly be it?_   She returned to the lounge and began strapping herself with the belts.

John shot her a sideways glance and pouted, “You sure about that?”

“No,” she replied, “But I have a hunch I know what I need to do – and I need your help.”

“Of course,” he said with warmth.  He got up from his chair and came to her side.

_Always good on you, John.  You are such a dutiful friend – I know that you would truly do anything for Sherlock and me.  It means a lot.  But are you willing to go the whole way?_

She thought back to the last section of what Matt’s recording had said: “ _I am so sorry, Shannon.  I’m so sorry for_ Mephistopheles’ return _.  I went and shuffled it all up...”_

“Sherlock Holmes and John Watson,” she said loud enough that Sherlock could hear, “I need you to both do me a favor.  I think I’ve figured out the song that I need to hear, thanks to his highness’ wonderful prompting earlier.  But the thing is, if I am wrong –“ her voice faltered.

Sherlock stopped what he was doing and shifted his gaze toward the lounge when she paused.   Abruptly, he stood up and quickly retreated to his room for a moment to return to the lounge.  He was standing almost stoically in the middle of the floor, towering over her and John.

John stared between them trying to puzzle together what they had obviously already worked out.  He looked back again to Sherlock and saw that he was holding his hand gun with the safety off.

“Sherlock, no!” John gasped.  “You can’t possibly…”

“John, when you bind her, you’ll need to get out of the way.”

“It’s the only way, John.  If I’m wrong, then I will more than likely come after you both.  Every person in this room knows that I can beat both of you easily, strapped or not.  So, I need my soldier and my reason to hold fast and in the event that the worst should happen, take care of it,” she said with a certain amount of resolve and sadness in her voice.

John bit the inside of his cheek and choked up a little, “Shannon – I can’t…”

“That’s an order, soldier,” she barked.  “So help me, God, you will do as I ask.  I will not let me kill you both.”  She stared to Sherlock briefly and locked eyes to see a small flash of insecurity.  She felt her chest tighten, “Don’t you dare.”

_Don’t you dare do this to me, you pompous asshole.  You’ve known all this time that there was a chance that it could come to this.  Don’t you dare flash that emotion to me now.  I need you to not care – I need you to tell me that it’s all part of the plan and logically assure me that.  Don’t you fucking dare care now.  I can’t bear it to know that there’s a shred of doubt that you care at all._

She plugged in her ear buds and scrolled through her mp3 player to find _Mephistopheles’ Return_ by _Trans-Siberian Orchestra_.  John swallowed hard and cocked his head to the side as his eyes showed that he was distancing himself from the situation should it go badly.  John tightened the last belt around her torso and arms.  She closed her eyes and focused on slowly regulating her breathing and listened intently to the song, and on loop for good measure.

John backed away quickly and stood beside his friend. “We can’t do this, Sherlock.  This is madness.  This is Shannon we’re talking about,” he whispered harshly.  Sherlock’ s eyes were cold and calculating while he intently stared at Shannon.  “How will you know if it’s her!?”

“She’s going to reveal something to us that only I would know.  If she is enacted to go Geist, I feel that it’s only logical she would go straight for her laptop to do so as fast as possible,” he whispered quickly.

Shannon heaved a heavy sigh and was meditatively transported to another locked room in her mind.  It was almost like Sherlock’s mind palace – but not quite.

_She could feel the colors from her synaesthesia in the music attacking the wall in her mind.  The texture and patterns were chipping away at this door-less concrete room until finally, the walls fell.  
Matt stood there ahead of her and looked solemn.  She could feel the information seeping into her brain like a slow avalanche.  The tremendous force of it – the entire brunt of it almost like being hit by a train in slow motion._

_“Matt,” Shannon barely whispered.  She could feel tears welling in her eyes and her heart catching in her throat._

The Baker Street boys watched as tears streamed down her face and knew that soon, they would have their answer.  Sherlock watched her with a certain fervor and amount of inquisitiveness.  She was one of the closest things to a reflection and tie to humanity that he had.  Sure, John was probably the closest thing to a best mate that he had – but Shannon was something else altogether.  She could keep up, her banter was enjoyable to an extent, and of course, he was becoming attached to her almost as well as he was to John.  _Shannon, you have to pick correctly._

 

_“Hello, baby sister.  If you’ve managed to break down these walls then you are so much more.  I am sorry that I have done this to my own flesh and blood – but I can’t take that back now.  You had to have figured this out in time because – well, that’s the only way that you could have got to this little pocket of information.  By now, I would assume that you’re down to the last few tracks and that you’ve been listening to them out of order.  That’s not entirely true – I gave you in your subconscious a set track order to follow.  Sorry.  It wasn’t just luck.  When you come to your last two tracks, you have a choice._

_“I hope that you will make the decision to complete Geist.  You will become a near unstoppable force.  Essentially, you will become the next Jason Bourne; and don’t worry: your first mission is already programmed into you.  Listen to it, and then follow up with listening to_ Brahm’s Double Concerto _.  It will then be completely initiated.”_

“I can’t believe I’m hearing this.  What the hell…Matt?!  How can you do this to me?  You’re not sorry at all.  I’m still your god-damned pawn.  Please tell me this is a lie.”  She screamed at Matt in her head, but all the boys could hear was mumbling.

 _“If circumstances arise, you can choose the second track.  Its track number totals fifteen when added together.  You must listen to it until the second pause in the distorted sound, and quickly follow with_ Fantatsia on a Theme by Thomas Tallis, _specifically your BBC Symphony Orchestra recording.  Listen to it completely and you will have all the knowledge you should ever hope to need without going Geist._

_“I do hope, however, that you choose the first.  There are people in this world that can use a mind and force like you to create wonderful things.  You would create chaos and then the order to follow.  Patriotism is dead, Shannon.  I hope you know that.  If you are with Sherlock Holmes, assuming he hasn’t killed himself yet, then he will undoubtedly figure this out also.  Be smarter than him, act as you should, and know that what I have created within your mind will never exist again unless you want it to.  You are now the only person in the world capable of enacting Phantom and Geist to others.  Create yourself a troop or an army.  I don’t care.  It’s my gift to you._

“No – please…Matt.  Don’t,” Shannon’s strangled sob cut through the tense silence in the flat.  Sherlock readjusted his hand on the grip of the gun and lined his sight up with her body.  John stood dutifully beside him and watched with calm apprehension as Shannon started to struggle against her belt bindings.

_“So there you have it, Shannon.  I’m sure that you’ve guessed by now that my death was the catalyst.  If you were ever framed for it, I apologize.  Duty called, you see.  And Tony, the man that I’m sure you discovered and more than likely killed for my murder…yes, also one of my toys.  Don’t grieve too much, Shannon.  My job was to get into the government, gain some semblance of control, and create my ghosts.  You have matured more beautifully than I could have hoped.  When the Boss meets up with you, give them my regards.  I hope all is going to plan.  Enact Geist, Shannon.  Become who you are supposed to be.  Be my legacy!”_

 

Her eyes snapped open and she swung her legs down onto the floor whilst staring idly at John’s book on the coffee table.  _Girl, remember all this – you’re going to need it._ She quickly cataloged the experience with the color of the song and looked up to the boys.  Sherlock stood poised with his gun arm extended, aimed at her head.  _Apt, don’t you think, Sherlock?_  

John stood like stone and frowned.  “For God’s sake, Shannon, say something.”

She looked between them and undid the first set of bindings on her torso.  She heard Sherlock pull back the hammer and re-grip the gun.  She looked up with bloodshot eyes and sighed, shaking her head.

“You should know what to say to me if everything went as well as you hoped it would,” Sherlock sniped venomously.

She nodded in agreement and stilled.  “Yes,” she croaked still trying to force her heart out of her throat.  “I – I…”

“You what?” he quipped with a twitch in his cheek.  John stood poised to act should the occasion arise.

She cleared her throat and looked back up at the consulting detective, “…I – believe, I believe in Sherlock Holmes.”  She put her elbows to her knees and let her head fall in her hands.  She wiped away the tears from her face and felt ashamed, embarrassed, and defeated.  With as smart as she was, she did not see this coming at all.  Her brother – the warm light of love from her childhood – was snuffed out instantly and she felt cold.


	5. Tick, Tick, Tick, Tock

Sherlock clicked the hammer back and handed the gun back to John who had the sense to put the safety on. He knelt before her and quickly undid the rest of the belts and tried to gauge what had happened from her eyes.  She appeared broken and it unnerved him.

“Shannon Byrns, what happened?  What were you able to find out?” his demeanor was becoming frantic.  “Tell me!”

“Sherlock,” John cautioned.  Shannon looked to the pair of them slowly and wrenched herself from Sherlock’s grasp to then lie on the couch with her back to the boys. 

She sighed quietly, “I need Mrs. Hudson.”

John was struck by the tone of her voice – it didn’t sound like her at all.  Even in times where she cried and felt pain…it was nothing like this.  Sherlock yelled down the stairs for Mrs. Hudson and returned to Shannon’s side, pushing her legs forward to sit on the edge of the couch.  He knew she’d tell him.  She told him everything about the case.  _Why is Mrs. Hudson needed then?_

She quickly scaled the steps and looked about, “What have you boys done!  Shoo! Get away.  Sherlock, get up you oaf, and go do something!”  She sat in Sherlock’s spot and leaned close to Shannon.  “Dearie, what’s wrong, what’s happened?”

Shannon gazed lazily up at her, made a large effort to sit up, and whispered into her landlady’s ear.  The point of Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock then realized, was to aptly display the emotions that were taking over her mind.  As Shannon kept whispering, the shock, horror, pain, and disbelief washed over the older woman’s face in waves.  When Shannon finished, she slowly crept back into her position on the couch and didn’t say a word.

“Well?” John asked, breaking the silence.

“Boys…oh, boys…what have you gotten yourselves into?”

Sherlock stood still.  _I should console her.  Later, of course – they would be suspicious.  But I have the inane urge to do so now, why?  I know why.  No I don’t.  Why do I know?  Why do I doubt that I know?_   Mrs. Hudson then relayed Shannon’s message to the pair of them in the kitchen.  Sherlock twitched his nose at the end and John appeared crestfallen.

The kind land lady made a cup of tea for all of them and tried to coax Shannon out from her spot on the couch to no avail.  Shannon’s mind and body seemed exceptionally taxed and it looked as if she was wasting away in front of them.  It troubled all of them greatly: she had become more a pillar of resolve to each of them.  Shannon was usually able to keep the peace between all of them; and it could be said that her housemates fed off of her enthusiasm to make the house ‘light’.

Mrs. Hudson, John, and Sherlock were all quickly conversing in the kitchen about their lodger’s predicament.

“Shannon’s such a lovely girl – I can’t believe that after all she’s been through for her brother…and then this…” Mrs. Hudson remised softly.

John folded his arms, “She’s gone and been gutted.  She came here with the premise to find her brother’s real killer.  I just can’t believe that all of this points to Matt now.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Sherlock chided, “There’s still another person pulling the strings.  Matt was contacted by someone to find the perfect specimen for Phantom.  He needed loyalty and creativity.  Shannon was sublime in his eyes.”

They didn’t hear her get up, nor did they hear her tiptoe down the stairs and silently shut her door behind her.  She crawled into her bed and clutched her phone to her chest as she pressed the speed-dial for Andy.  Shannon pulled her comforter up over her head and placed the phone to her ear.  The dial tone yelled angrily to her.

 

“Hello?”

“Andy…”

“What’s wrong?  Shannon, are you okay?”  That’s when the tears fell and she internally cursed herself.  He heard the almost inaudible sniffle, “Oh my God, Shannon.  Talk to me.  Where are you?”

“I’m safe.  And still here.  But – it’s about him…”

She broke down.  She’d known Andy since she was eight – whenever there were family functions, Andy was always there with her.  Matt, though he ‘looked out’ for her, was older and Andy was within a year of her age.  He was one of her first friends and when she needed a place to stay in Boston, neither thought it weird that they move in together.

She cleared her throat and found some of her resolve, “Firstly, you can go back home.  It’s safer.  And I need you to send me my horns.  I’ve wired the money to you already.”

“Shannon, I’m worried about you – it’s okay.  I know.  O’Rourke and I have created an alliance of sorts – us against the world on your behalf.  There’s a mole somewhere in his office; we’ve been trying to find out who it is.  I know you said not to talk to him, but Shannon, you didn’t see him.”

_How could I have doubted Sean, after everything that he’d done for me?  After all of that and I still wronged him.  I’m not as good as I thought._

“Andy, Matt did this to me.”  The deafening silence on the other end of the line was destroying her.  “Alright, I’ll start at the beginning.”

 

Mrs. Hudson noticed the silence first; Shannon wasn’t in the lounge anymore.  “Sherlock, where’s she gone?”

He stopped midsentence with John and pondered, “She’s in her apartment – more than likely on her phone talking to Andy or O’Rourke.”

“You’re not worried that she’s going to go Geist?  She is by herself down there,” John worried.

 _No, I’m not worried about that.  I’m more worried about what she said.  She believes in_ Sherlock Homles _.  That’s terrifying.  I’m not a hero and she’s not saying that I am – but she’s saying that she believes in me.  Why?  I haven’t done anything to warrant such trust.  I’ve only known her a few weeks; though that could be argued socially since she and I have been having sexual relations…all for experimentation, of course – but nonetheless.  She and John, both of them, have this inane faith in me.  No – I’m terrified because of that.  I, Sherlock Holmes, am afraid of her faith in me._

“She’s fine.  If it worries you so much, you will notice that she didn’t take her laptop with her and that she didn’t try and kill us.  She’s distraught and wracked with emotion.  She’s wrestling her conscience.”

“Sherlock,” Mrs. Hudson appealed, “Go and check on her, will you?  Be a gentleman this one time for me.”

“That has nothing to do with it, Mrs. Hudson,” he quipped on his way to the doorway and stairs, “If she’s in a cocoon for the rest of her stay, I’ll only be left with John to amuse me all the time – he’ll start getting texts again at all hours of the day.”

“Oh God,” John sighed trying to make light of the situation, “I’d throw you off a roof.”

“Don’t be so negative, John,” Sherlock smirked.

Mrs. Hudson scoffed at the pair, “Boys!  None of that!”

She pushed past him to go downstairs and John looked at Sherlock, “She’ll be fine, right?”

“Would caring help?”

“You care, I can tell.  Stop lying to yourself.  Go and try and fix her – please.”

The detective rolled his eyes and trod down the stairs and could hear Shannon’s murmurs through the door to 221C.  She would be expecting him at some point simply because he would need to know exactly what happened.  He opened the door and found her underneath her grey duvet mumbling.

“Let Andy know that you will be taken care of,” Sherlock announced himself plainly.

“No, no – that’s Sherlock Holmes.  No, you can’t have an autograph.  Shut up.  He said I’ll be taken care of.  But that’s it.  Yeah – time, I know – it just hurts.  Thanks.  Tell Sean I’ll get in contact with him soon.  No – it’s fine.  The boys will take care of me.  Well, the one will.  Sherlock may just stare at me funny.  I’ve sent you home more money for my portion of rent.  No – too late.  It’s already sent.  Just send me my horns.  I love you.  Bye.”  Her arm peeked out from under the covers to show her hand placing the mobile on the side table.  It withdrew back to its blanket cave as quickly as it appeared.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “Love.”

She growled from underneath her blanket, “Yes, Sherlock, love – it’s endearing; and happens to remind me of a time when I was, as you put it, an idiot.  I love Andy because he is like my family.”

“Your family has an amazing track record so far,” he stated bluntly.  “Perhaps if you distance yourself from your ‘family’ things like this would not get to you as angry as they do.”

“Holmes, I realize you’re trying to help and do the socially acceptable thing right now, but fuck off.”

He crossed his arms, “No.”

“It’s my fucking apartment, Holmes, get out!” she snarled.  Her sadness was quickly morphing into blind hatred.

“No.  I will not have you withdraw after all the progress that we have made on this case.  You knew that there was a possibility that your brother was involved in all of this – we had discussed it,” he snapped frustrated, “Do not make me regret taking this case thinking that you were just like everybody else.”

She flung the blanket off of herself and swung her legs over the side of her bed, “Fine then, genius, I’ll tell you what happened that night that Tony died.  You know, the man that O’Rourke had to shoot to protect me?  Wasn’t so.  I shot him in the shoulder in the street with O’Rourke’s firearm – it happened so fast I didn’t even realize what was going on.  Then we came to find out that Tony ripped open a vein so he could bleed out and die.  O’Rourke took the blame for it saying that he was protecting me.  There you have it, case solved.  Is it everything that you’d hoped?  No?  Life isn’t fair, Sherlock.  You don’t get to remind me of that – you have no room to come in here and preach the logician’s gospel on how the rules of the universe work.  Don’t you fucking dare.”

He stared down to the floor a moment to quickly find the _correct_ words to say to her in the hopes that her flying off the handle wouldn’t happen.  “You said that you believe in Sherlock Holmes,” he almost whispered, “Why?”

She growled to herself and rolled back over on her bed to face the wall.  “You wouldn’t shoot me.”

“I knew before you said that – so I’m asking you why you had to announce to John that you believe in me; I am by no means someone to be idolized on a pedestal.”

She snorted, “Don’t flatter yourself.”

He frowned and furrowed his brow, “It’s curious; of everything you could have said to convince me and John – and you chose ‘I believe in Sherlock Holmes’.”

She hated him right now – _I hate myself right now_.  Everything was falling apart in her life and it hurt.  She sighed before replying, “With everything I just learned – I had to find something to hold on to.  It’s sentiment, you see; if I believe in you, then I believe in logic, reason, and probability.  I believe in whatever it is that I have developed here because I don’t have much else to believe in.”

He nodded with minuscule movement, picked her duvet up off the floor, and covered her body with it.  He sat on the edge of her bed silent.

“The emotional rollercoaster will be gone by tomorrow morning.  I’m going swimming:  I’ll swim it out of me.  I do apologize that you’ve had to come down here and deal with this,” she said quietly as she looked over her shoulder at him.  “I’m sure this has you a bit out of your element.”

“It’s not really my area, no,” he paused.  He leaned down and began untying his shoes, “Would it comfort you if I stay here?  In no way am I displaying that I care – but I cannot have you so muddled up that you aren’t on top form right now.  Something’s brewing out there.  I don’t know what just yet, but I have been expecting it for some time.”

“It would, Sherlock, but you aren’t obligated to throw me a pity party,” she stated.  He had moved his shoes to the foot of the bed and was in the process of removing his other articles of clothing.  Shannon walked across the room to fetch a pair of his pajama bottoms and t-shirt she had knicked on his behalf in the event Mrs. Hudson or John were ever still around during the experiment sessions, tossed them to him, and changed into a tank top and shorts.

She crawled into her bed first and was closest to the wall, leaving Sherlock on the outside in the event that he had to get up and go about his business later in the night or early morning.  She handed him the blanket he often used when he would stay in her room and she rolled herself up in the duvet.  He clicked off the light on her side table and shoved his hands underneath his pillow.

“You will be alright, Shannon,” he almost whispered.  His voice was low from being tired.

She chuckled, “You can’t be so sure.”

He looked surprised at her response – it wasn’t what he had expected.  He was trying to be nice and she was shirking him off.  His features softened, “What do you have to do?”

“The usual, listen to more music,” she quipped.  She heaved a heavy sigh and then divulged everything that she had seen in her mind to him.

Her voice was rough again, _Something that my brain simply can’t ignore.  I have an inclination for the timbre of her voice_ , and he looked over.  She was facing him, but completely against the wall to give him his space.  _How quaint of you, still thinking not of yourself – I’m doing you this favor to get you to sleep and you grant me the space I require.  Shannon Byrns, whatever are we going to do with you?_  
“Come on then,” he replied to her.  “I know you’ve thought about it and that you’ve given me my space, but have at it if it means that you’ll go to sleep faster.”

She leaned up on her elbow and lazily stared down at him, “I don’t want you to throw me a pity party.”  She articulated each of her words carefully.  _That’s all that I’d need at this point.  Pity from this man._

“It’s not pity – it’s compromise.  You need sleep, I need you on your game; nothing more,” he quipped.

“Fine,” she conceded, “Shake on it, first.”

He eyed her suspiciously and offered his hand.  They shook in agreement and she moved to rest her head on his shoulder.  Once settled, she yawned and mumbled, “If they come in – feel free to make something up to explain your chivalrous behaviour.”

“I was planning on it, thank you.  Now go to sleep.  We’ll discuss things about tonight in the morning,” he said sternly.

She yawned again and soon was fast asleep, breathing deeply against the folds of his shirt.  His mind hummed as he processed what she had said to him.  The music selections were simple enough; though her brother’s betrayal – that was what she was hung up on. 

_Since she’s arrived, my focus shifted off of what happened that night at the perpetrator’s murder to how to solve Shannon as a puzzle.  She is far more interesting than the murder – to be fair I assumed that she had killed him before she got here; it was simple, really.  But now, now what am I supposed to do?  The clues to helping her gain closure are getting more and more obscure or are lodged deep within the confines of her subconscious.  The three of us have been climbing for so long.  Where’s the precipice?_

_For that matter, all these whispers and doings in the shadows by Moriarty – something big is coming for me; I’ve been expecting it for some time now.  But what is it, exactly?  He’s been quiet and yet I can feel the calm tension right before the storm breaks.  I can’t ignore that there’s a possible connection between what’s going on in her life versus my own.  Moriarty is a consulting crime lord.  I solemnly wish that they are connected – it would be so exciting; I’ve been bored more or less.  With the same breath, for her sake, I should hope that they aren’t related at all and that this is one of those few times where probability is in her favor._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Folks, I do apologize that it's been so long between chapters. Real life caught up to me with vengeance - I do promise that this set will be finished: I've already got the mapping blocked out.
> 
> As always, your thoughts and views are appreciated.


	6. Tick Tock Goes the Clock

When Sherlock awoke, Shannon was already up and gone, no doubt for her swim.  Considering how her brother’s betrayal was taking a toll on her, she’d be swimming a great deal today.  She claimed that it was one of the few places where she could think actively on her own.  It was one of her ticks as far as he was concerned and so far, he needn’t worry about it.  She had listened to the songs to not enact Geist.  She made the decision and would not back down from it.  She would have moments over the course of the night where she would stare out into space and then suddenly have an epiphany.  These moments would come and go.

After getting dressed, the detective sat at the kitchen table to look into his microscope.  His phone kept alerting him to a text.  John came out from the shower, sat down in his chair, and asked, “So, did you just talk to him for a really long time?”

Sherlock glanced up to the mannequin hanging from the ceiling, “Oh – Henry Fishgard never committed suicide.”  He slammed a book shut before going back to his work under the microscope.  “Bow Street Runners: missed everything.”

“Pressing case, is it?”

“They’re all pressing until they’re solved.”

Sherlock’s mobile rings again and John put down his newspaper, “I’ll get it, shall I?”  Sherlock heard him mumble something about how Shannon may have gotten into another fight and he wouldn’t ever know.  Sherlock ignored him and continued to focus on his microscope.

“Here,” John stated gravely.

“Not now; I’m busy,” Sherlock quipped without looking up.

“Sherlock.”

“Not now,” he reiterated more sternly.

John took a heavy breath, “He’s back.”

Sherlock looked up and took the phone from his partner.

 

_Sherly:_

_Come and play._  
 _Tower Hill._  
 _Jim Moriarty x_.

Sherlock sat still for a moment while John buzzed about getting dressed.  He twiddled his phone in his fingers before standing to send out a text to Shannon:

 

_Shannon Byrns_

_It’s happened.  
-SH_

At the pool, Shannon was doing laps and was somewhere in the high twenties when one of the little girls on the pool deck flagged her down.  She swam to the ledge, “What’s the matter, sweetheart?”

The little girl pointed to the bench, “Your phone, it keeps going off.”

“Oh, thank you,” she huffed as she hoisted herself out of the pool.  Her phone kept sounding an Alert tone which only had a handful of reasons.  She sprinted and slid the remaining way to her phone and opened it.

Sherlock had texted her and so had someone else.  Her face fell when she read those two simple words from Sherlock and the air from her lungs disappeared when she read the next text.  The boys had filled her in on everything that they knew about Jim Moriarty.  O’Rourke had even talked to her about trying to stay safe: _The whispers I hear from organized crime are no joke._

Her mind began to race. She abruptly grabbed her things and went to the locker room.  The boys were going to need her help.  However, first she had to go and meet with the elder Holmes brother.

 

_Mycroft Holmes:_

_You and I need to have a discussion._

_Miss Shannon Byrns:_

_Is that so?  And what could possibly encourage  
such a meeting?_

_Mycroft Holmes:_

_Geist._

_Miss Shannon Byrns:_

_When and where, Miss Byrns?_

Sherlock and John got home late from The Tower and the smell of dinner wafted in the air.  Shannon had come home from her meeting with Mycroft and began cooking.  She knew that a case this massive was going to take a toll on the detective and she had to try and make him eat before it got too bad.

John stood in the sitting room shrugging his jacket off as he glanced into the kitchen.  Shannon was hard at work cooking their dinner and had expertly moved all of the tubes, Bunsen burners, and the microscope so that the three of them could have a genuine sit down meal.

Sherlock entered the sitting room, grabbed his violin and began to play.  John met Shannon’s gaze and shook his head, “He’s been quiet since.”

John took over cooking the remaining bits of food whilst Shannon walked into the sitting room to stand behind the detective.  “You’re going to eat before this all starts.”  He continued to play some Rachmaninoff and ignored her.  She placed her fingertips on the strings to mute them to force him to stop and recognize her.

He peered over at her, “Where have you been?”  He stopped and stared back out the window.

“I got to see Mycroft,” she said gently.  “We had some business to discuss, apparently.”  She began to whisper, “I also received a text this morning with a media file attached to it at the same time I got yours.”

“Is that so?”  His gaze never faltered from the outside world through the cool glass.

She followed his gaze as she took the violin from him, “Take a guess.”

He quirked an eyebrow up, “The Brahms?”

She nodded.  “Jim Moriarty tried to activate me.”

His voice lowered, “Interesting.”

“Sherlock,” she whispered, “How would he have known if he wasn’t already listening?”

His calculating eyes digested the new information quickly and he turned towards the kitchen, “I suppose if you won’t stop nagging, I’ll eat only to shut you up.”

“Oi, Sherlock, she’s only trying to help,” John reprimanded.

Shannon coolly brushed past Sherlock to take her seat beside at the other end of the table.  The three of them talked amicably about the events the boys had dealt with earlier.  Shannon hopped up from the table and left momentarily to take a tray of food to Mrs. Hudson.  The landlady had been dealing with a nasty cold all day.

Sherlock looked to John, “There’s a lot more at play than I realized.  We have Shannon to consider.”

John stopped mid-chew and swallowed hard, “Shannon?  Meaning what – she can take care of herself.  She’s plenty demonstrated that.”

“Exactly,” Sherlock guided, “Geist.  Shannon can take care of herself – but what if that’s the whole point?  Oh, yes, this is getting interesting.  Shannon is the strategic bishop in this game.  I wonder if she knows it yet.”

“Sherlock,” John frowned, “She’s our friend.  She won’t do anything to us.  I mean, come on – look at all that we’re been through so far; you’re implying that it was all part of her programming and a grand scheme!”

“He is good,” Sherlock asserted as he leaned back into his seat.

“So am I,” Shannon replied as she reentered the room.  “Quite.”

“Don’t be so modest,” Sherlock groaned.

“You’re just jealous you can’t be as flawless as I am and have a mind like you do.  I’m the complete package.”

“Ladies,” John warned heartily, “That’s enough of that.  I’ll send the two of you to your rooms.”

Sherlock looked smug.  She knew he was going to be a prat.  If they were right and Moriarty had been eavesdropping – no sense in letting on to it.

Without missing a beat, Sherlock matter-of-factly stated, “Shannon and I have had sex on more than one occasion, John.”

The Doctor choked on his beer, sprayed it everywhere, and began sputtering for air.  Shannon shook her head, “Timing, Sherlock Holmes, you jackass.”

“You can’t be serious,” John gasped in a whisper, “The two of you?!  You’re doing….things!?”

Shannon looked to the good doctor calmly, “All for scientific purposes, of course.  We aren’t dating, John.”  Sherlock looked proud of himself when she retorted, “Honestly, as if I could date you.  You’re a mess.”

John sat there mouth agape, “But – how long – how? When?”

“Long enough,” Shannon responded at the same time Sherlock proclaimed the exact time frame.

“Don’t worry John, it was all purely for science.  I figured that since I’m being subjected to eat, we should subject our inquiry to you for approval.”

“Holmes,” Shannon warned.

Watson was gobsmacked.  “You’re joking.  That’s it.  It’s not funny.”  He looked to Shannon for some sort of clarification yet none came.  “Seriously?”

“Honestly,” Shannon replied, glaring at the detective, “For scientific reasons.  Though I’d assume the study was conclusive enough and that there is sufficient data.”

John bolted upright and glared daggers at Sherlock, “Stand up.  Outside.  Now.”

“John?” Sherlock stated confusedly.  “You’re cross.”

“Damn bloody observant of you!  Outside!  NOW!”  He grabbed Sherlock by the scruff of his shirt and began to drag him down the stairs and out the door.  Shannon followed close in tow and hollered to Mrs. Hudson that everything was fine.

“Boys, enough!” Shannon growled as John’s anger flared.

She watched as it happened.  It was almost like watching a slow-motion film: the legs are planted, muscles react to cause the hips to cock backward with a coiled right arm, fist perfectly set to minimize user damage – and then the fire: like the release of a bullet, she watched as John began to take a swing at Sherlock.  She quickly stepped between the pair of them and took a nice solid punch to the shoulder as she deflected both gentlemen from hitting each other.

John immediately apologized, “Shannon!  What are you doing?  I’m so sorry – oh, Christ, let me take a look at that…”

Sherlock, however, was puzzled that he was deflected.  “If he wants to have a fight, then let’s have it!”

Shannon slapped John across the face, and in turn then Sherlock; hard enough to sting their pride and vanity as she silently walked back into Baker Street.  The Baker Street Boys stood in silence a moment and looked each other over. 

John spoke first after his humility sunk in, “You’re not dating her?”

“Of course not.  We’re too much alike.  We’d kill one another somehow.”

“If you mess this up, so help me God, Sherlock Holmes!”

He rolled his eyes and made his way into their flat, “Come on, then.  Let’s go, John.”

Shannon was sitting in her seat on the couch when the boys solemnly came back upstairs.  “Are you two quite finished now?”

“Yes,” John replied like a whipped puppy.  Sherlock nodded in silence.

She went back to reading her book, “The kitchen needs cleaned up.  Both of you.  Now.”

Both men marched into the kitchen and worked in silence as the place was reset back into Sherlock’s mini-lab.  Dishes were washed and put away, food was put into the fridge, and the kitchen was spotless.

They returned to the sitting room quietly.  Shannon was already standing up and handed John his laptop and Sherlock his violin.  “Now that you two are ready to act like adults, you can use your tools to help you think.  I’m sure we’ve got a few weeks before the Moriarty trial.”  She turned to walk away, “And the next time you both feel like acting like children, you will be treated as such.”

Shannon confidently waltzed out of the living room and outside to take a walk while the boys were left to their own devices.  “We would definitively kill each other, John, you have nothing to fear.”

“Sherlock, I don’t care; honestly – I was just angry that you hadn’t told me about all of this sooner.  It’s your own business and all; but she’s like family now.  I don’t want anything ruined because of it.”

Holmes nodded and started to play his violin after he closed his eyes.  If Shannon was right about Moriarty having a listen into their lives, then certain aspects would be brought to light shortly.


	7. Of Course

_Six Weeks Later_

 

Shannon and John were sitting in the common area when Sherlock emerged.  He was wearing his blue shirt for his day in court.  John was using the mirror above the fireplace to finish getting ready.

“No.  No, no – not that one,” Shannon groaned before hoisting herself up out of his chair.  “No – just not that one.”  She shuffled into Sherlock’s room and began rummaging through his closet.  He rolled his eyes in protest.  The musician re-emerged carrying his black striped shirt and gave it to him.

“What’s wrong with the one I have on?” he protested as he began to unbutton his current shirt.

John was trying to hide the small smirk that was forming.  “Just no.  Blue implies things subconsciously.  You need something smart and open.   This is what works.  No arguing,” Shannon chided as she took the black shirt off the hanger.

John was finishing his tie when he frowned, “You aren’t coming today?”

Shannon shook her head as she hung the blue shirt back up, “No – it’s best that I don’t given the circumstances.  I shouldn’t be any closer to him than I have to be.  Now, jackets on boys – you’ve got work to do.  Off you go; don’t be late.”  The boys shrugged on their jackets, took a last look in the mirror and shuffled off.  Shannon grabbed his elbow and looked into Sherlock’s eyes, “I believe in Sherlock Holmes.”

He nodded and made his way down the stairs.

“Ready?” John asked before he opened the door.

“Yes,” he replied flatly with a nod.  The door opened and the media frenzy outside went berserk.  The boys got into the squad car as quickly as possible.  With all eyes on the boys, Shannon scanned outside for the eyes that knew that this was to happen.  Her gut and intuition were telling her that all this was much bigger than even Sherlock was anticipating.  James Moriarty – consulting criminal – was on trial at the Old Bailey and she had a hunch he would get off.

A few hours later, Shannon got a phone call from John, “Sherlock showed off.  Of course he did.  And now he’s in jail.”

“I’m sure it’s not the first time, John,” Shannon responded flatly.

“Where are you?  Are you at home?”

She looked up to the sky, “No, I’m out right now. Do you need anything?  I can post his bail if there is one.”

“I’ll just call Mycroft…”

“No, I got it.  Trust me.  It’ll be fine.  Just give me some time to make a few calls,” she soothed.  “I’ll try and have him out as quick as I can.”

“You alright,” he asked hearing the odd tone of her voice, “You sound a little off.”

She shrugged as Lisa lay unconscious at her feet, “I’ve just been a bit busy.  It’s nothing too serious.  I’ll get him out, John.”

“Right, see you at home, then?”

“Of course.”

She hung up the phone, scanned through her contacts and made a call, “Yes, I’d like to post the bail for Mister Sherlock Holmes if there is one, thank you.”  She looked down at Lisa who was breathing deeply in her forced sleep.  “Yes – thank you, you already have that information.”   
She hung up and pocketed her phone before grabbing the unconscious woman, hoisting her over her shoulder, and walking to the abandoned building nearby.  
“Come on then, Lisa, we need to discuss why your boss has such an interest in me.”

 

John and Sherlock walked into the flat from their day in court with Shannon sitting at the microscope in the kitchen.

John was stewing.  “Bank of England, Tower of London, Pentonville: three of the most secure places in the country and six weeks ago Moriarty breaks in; no one knows how or why.”  He sat down in his chair as Sherlock paced about.  “All we know is – “

“He ended up in custody,” Sherlock replied with his hands steepled to his lips.

Shannon looked up and watched their banter from her seat.  Sherlock did a quick double take when he noticed she was using his equipment.  She’d had permission to use anything she needed whilst she was in England, but he couldn’t ever really recall her using his things.

John hesitated, “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” the detective replied.

“The _Look_.”

“Look?”

“You’re doing the look again,” John grumbled.

Matter-of-factly the detective retorted, “Well, I can’t see it, can I?”

John motioned towards the mirror for Sherlock to take a look.  “It’s my face!”

“Yes, and it’s doing a thing.  You’re doing a ‘we both know what’s really going on here’ face.”

Sherlock was getting exasperated, “Well, we do!”

“No,” John jabbed, “I don’t, which is why I find the face so annoying.”

Sherlock paused and Shannon went back to her work with a grin on her face.  “If Moriarty wanted the Jewels, he’d have them.  If he wanted those prisoners free, they’d be out on the streets.  The only reason he’s still in a prison cell right now is because he chose to be there.”  He started to pace again.  “Somehow this is part of his scheme.”

John contemplated what he had said and nodded.  “Well, you can thank Shannon for your timely release.”

Sherlock looked up quickly at her again, “Not my brother?”

“No, she was able to take care of it – though no doubt your brother already knows about it,” John chuffed as he opened up his laptop.

The detective made his way into the kitchen and stood behind the lady at work, “Don’t hover, Sherlock, it’s bothersome.  I don’t do it to you when you’re working.”

“Taking a turn at more scientific subject matter is a little out of character for you, isn’t it?” he stated plainly.

He meant nothing by it, she knew that; and normally yes – this was out of character.  The pair of them complimented each other – he was more of the lab rat and she was the music teacher.  “I suppose so.”

He nodded silently, “I can then assume that Geist is still developing for you, such that it is?”

“Yes,” she responded.  She peeled herself away from the viewer.  “Take a look at this, tell me what you see.”  She hopped up out of the chair and he sat down.  She stood behind him with her hands on his shoulders.

“It’s dust –“ he replied.  “It’s not a bad sample.”

“Thanks,” she chuckled.  That was as close to a compliment that she’d get.  “Where have they been?”

He scrutinized the sample under his scope, “You want to know about the pollen spores and the dirt particles.”

“Please and thank you,” she stated as she rolled her thumbs into his shoulders.  She could feel the knot between his two shoulder blades slowly loosening.

“The sample is from along the Thames, more or less and judging by the mineral content and then when you combine that with the types of pollens present…”  The knot disappeared and she walked around the other side of the table.  “…Dartford.”

She puzzled, “What the hell would she have been doing over in Dartford?”

“She?  Oh, did you find Lisa today?” he asked as he looked up at her.

“Yes,” she replied frankly, “We had a nice discussion.  She’s currently on lockdown until I have more answers.  She’s confirmed that she has been working for Moriarty.  She was, unfortunately, tight lipped about where she’d been hiding out lately.”

Sherlock reclined, “What are you doing?”

“Nothing stupid,” she replied calmly.  “I’m working.”

“No, working for you is going and giving lessons, playing with the symphony, and being a nag – this isn’t what _you_ normally call work, Shannon.”

“Look, you have your hands full right now, Mr. Holmes,” she started.

He snapped, “Don’t do that.” She quirked an eyebrow up in puzzlement, “Don’t _Mr. Holmes_ me.  That makes you seem incredibly stupid.”

“I’m doing some work right now, Sherlock, and you know it’s good to have my eyes out and about while you’re trying to figure out this Moriarty debacle.”

“Don’t tell me it’s your gut again.”

“Then I won’t.  But you and I both know my track record is flawless so far.  I think this is even bigger than you’re willing to consider.”

He stood up and began pacing in the sitting area again.  Shannon left the kitchen and headed down the stairs to talk to Mrs. Hudson before leaving.

“Where’s she gone off to?” John questioned.

Sherlock watched her through the window, “I would presume to go and interrogate Lisa some more now that she knows where she’s been hiding.”

“She found her?  Jesus.  Does she need help?  It’s not like her just to hop off for the night.”

“No,” he grumbled, “She’s fine.  It appears that Geist is giving her everything she would need to know for ‘cloak and dagger’ tricks.  She’s still herself – it’s as if an expansion to her personality has been installed.  She’s trying out the new hardware.”

John frowned, “She’s not a machine, Sherlock.”

“Of course not,” he conceded.  “Now, about tomorrow –“

“You’re not going.  You are going to stay here.  She can’t afford bailing you out again and I will not have you making a fool of yourself.”

“It bothers you that much, does it?  It shouldn’t.”

“The matter’s settled and if you try to argue with me about it I will tell her.”

“If the pair of you keep insisting on treating me like a child…”

John chuckled, “I don’t think you’ve proved to her that you aren’t being a child right now.”

 

Shannon stood in the basement of an old abandoned industrial building with Lisa confined to a small closet.  Lisa was crying at this point.  Shannon had no doubt that the screaming and tantrum phase has already worked itself out and now she realized exactly how dire her situation had become: her boss was under lock and key while she was being held captive.

Shannon had ensured that every door in the room was locked before opening the closet door.  Her cold demeanor returned as she readied herself for the interrogation.

The door flung open and bright light poured into the small closet, blinding the captive.  Shannon dragged her out into the middle of the room and shoved her into a seat before securing her limbs with zip ties.  Lisa was hoarse and weak from trying to get free for the past twelve hours.

“Please,” she begged, “My boss will pay you a nice sum if you just let me go.  I can’t be off the street very long!”

“Lisa, tsk, tsk,” Shannon chided, “You and I both know your boss isn’t going to do shit right now.  But you and I – we need to talk.”

“You!?” she cried out gutturally.  “How did you find me?”

Shannon shrugged as Lisa’s eyes began to finally adjust to the light, “It was a mere accident – I had been taking a walk and found you.  You know I couldn’t just let you fly off to Switzerland or wherever your boss was sending you.  There’s too much to discuss.”

Lisa winced at the ice in her captor’s voice, “I see then that the program’s working fine.  You want information then.”

“That would be nice,” she seethed.  “Or I will just leave you in that closet.  And for the record, scream all you want.  This particular building has a unique structural design – these walls here are two-foot-thick solid concrete.  Scream all you like.”

“You’re evil,” she whispered.  “This can’t be just programming.”

“Something your boss no doubt neglected to tell you – no matter.  He sent me the Brahms six weeks ago.  So – let’s get down to business, shall we?  I have questions; you have answers.  If you’re lying, there will be discomfort at the first telling.  After the second, there will be pain.  Have I made the rules quite clear?”

“Crystal.”

“Wonderful,” she oozed with malice.  Shannon stood up and walked behind her captive and pulled her hair up into a messy pony tail.  She dragged a table over that had ice cubes, a small kitchen blow torch, and a small slab of ham.  She’d seen this in a movie once; hopefully it would work.

“Now,” Shannon grinned diabolically as she came back into Lisa’s view, “This is a cute little gadget that I enhanced recently.  The flame burns so hot that the mind actually thinks it’s cold at first.  Lovely little thing.  It’s great now that I’ve got a whole slew of chemistry up in my brain.”  She turned the torch on and returned back behind Lisa.

“Lisa, how long has Moriarty been toying with me.  Approximately, I won’t be too mad if you’re off a month or two.”

“I don’t know,” she mumbled.

Shannon took an ice cube to the back of her neck and torched the ham.  Lisa screamed.  The smell would start to mess with her psychologically very quickly.

“Mmmm….is that bacon I smell?” Shannon chuckled.  Lisa started to hyperventilate.  “Don’t worry, that’s normal – I think.  Let’s try this again: how long?”

“Since your brother died,” she stammered.  “He wanted to use one of your brother’s best operatives for his plan.  But he died in the Balkans somewhere and Boss was left wanting.  Your brother promised him an operative; so that just left you.  Matthew had told us that the only way to set you off was with his death; so – he was paid a large sum of money which you can now inherit considering Phantom has been a success, and the rest was an act.”

“But my brother is dead?”

“Yes…” she panted.

Her answer wasn’t quick enough so Shannon rubbed the ice cube back on her neck and cooked the ham some more.

“YES!  YES!  MATTHEW IS DEAD!” she yelled.  “That’s one of the few absolutes that couldn’t be meddled with.  Boss was sad to see one of his favorites go, but you – you are his new toy.”

“Boring.”

“NO,” she squealed, “WHAT DO YOU WANT TO KNOW!”

Shannon walked in front of the secured woman and sat on another chair opposite her.  “I’m going to talk and you’re going to listen.  You will only nod ‘yes’ and ‘no’ unless I ask you a question.  Do you understand?”

“Yes,” the woman cried.  Her body was starting to go into shock.

“What you are feeling is the onset of shock.  If you are truthful and helpful, I’ll ensure that you are not in any pain and that your neck will look as good as new.  Lie to me and we will be playing a different game.  Clear?”

“Yes.”

“Good.  Now, Moriarty is going to walk tomorrow because the whole point of this stupid charade has been to get Sherlock Holmes to dance for him.  Yes?”  Lisa nodded.

“Good girl.  That means the jury has been tampered with.  That being said, Sherlock is on the radar right now because…?”

“Boss is bored.  Since you’re ours, Sherlock is one of the last great games he can play with.  But even then, when it’s over – then what?”

Shannon crossed her leg, “Boredom?  Honestly?  That’s so childish.”  Shannon laughed, “This is very much like _The Highlander_ where ‘There can be only one’, isn’t it?  Christ, if only Holmes understood references like that.  Sad.  But amusing nonetheless.  Moriarty wants to see who is better.  Sherlock’s being set into motion.”  Again, Lisa nodded.

“He’s got less than a year.”  A nod.

“Less than six months.”  Another nod.

Shannon was alarmed, “Exactly how long?”

Lisa winced, “At this rate, I’d say the bloke’s only got maybe a couple months before Boss does it in and gets fed up.”

“I thought so.  And it’ll be a whirlwind, I’m sure.  I have work to do,” Shannon said thoughtfully as she stood up.

“Wait,” Lisa strained against her binds, “You need the next key for your operation with what Boss needs you to do.  I have it.  But there’s a good chance that you will kill me after – Boss said it was a possibility.  You’ve passed the test.”

“Marvelous.  Let’s have it.”

“Xerxes.”

“Xerxes, got it.”

“Wait – before you kill me…what are you going to do, exactly?  I figure before I die, I should know.”

“No, that’s not how this works; but since you asked and you haven’t any wires on you…” Shannon got into her face and whispered into her ear, “I’m going to _save_ Sherlock Holmes.”

“No!” Lisa yelled.  “No!  It’s not possible!”

“Probable, my dear Lisa; it’s not probable that I could have pulled this off – but you helped so beautifully!”

“MY NECK!”

Shannon spun the small table about to show her ‘torture’ device.  “The senses are a terrible, terrible thing.  Now, here’s some water,” she let the frantic woman take a long drink.  “I’ll be back tomorrow.  You’ll disappear then.  Behave.  There’s a toilet in the corner.  I have no doubts in your capability at loosing yourself from those bonds.”  The door shut and locked behind her.

Shannon may have seemed cool and collected, but her mind was racing at light speed and she felt as if her heart would burst out of her chest.  A couple of months to try and undo something that a criminal mastermind has been planning for who knows how long was a far cry at a long shot.  
 _How in the name of God am I going to save Sherlock?  For that matter, I have to then assume that they are all in danger.  I’m supposed to be the most lethal weapon in Moriarty’s arsenal.  Why?  Oh.  But of course.  OF COURSE!  Shannon, you idiot – you are such an idiot.  You’ve got work to do.  Fast._


	8. And Bound Her in Her Bones

Sherlock sat on the couch waiting for John’s call.  With the lack of evidence and witnesses on Moriarty’s behalf, he would have to be found guilty.  But then again, this is Moriarty and he would be pleasantly surprised if the man actually would stay behind bars. He closed his eyes.  _She didn’t come home last night.  No text.  I’ll have to contact her shortly.  She's more than likely staying away pending the verdict.  But still, why aren't you here?  It'll be interesting to see where you've been when you do get home.  
_

Deep in thought, Sherlock’s phone rang and he answered John’s call.

“Not guilty.  They found him not guilty.  No defense and Moriarty walked free.”

Sherlock slowly lowered his phone from his ear as his mind switched on full.

John was insistent, “Sherlock?  Are you listening?  He’s out.  You… You know he’ll be coming after you!  Sherlock!” *click*

The detective made his way to the kitchen, tossed his robe and grabbed his jacket, and began to make a tray of tea to take back to the sitting room.  He grabbed his violin and began to play Bach.

Shortly after, the door to the common room opened with James Moriarty standing in the doorway.  “Most people knock,” he said thoughtfully.  “But then you’re not most people, I suppose.”  He paused, “Kettle’s just boiled.”

 

Shannon went to open the door to 221B Baker Street and found it unlocked.  The mild tooling at the lock was proof enough that it had been picked.  _Moriarty._   John had texted her more than likely after he had called Sherlock, to warn her to get home as quick as she could.  If she was there chances are that Sherlock was just a tad safer.

She stealthily crept up the staircase and avoided all of the creaking boards.  She slunk about and hid out on the floor above the lounge area.  She listened intently with her ear to the floor.

“I don’t.  I just like to watch them all competing.  ‘Daddy love me the best!’  Aren’t ordinary people adorable?  Well, you know: you’ve got John.  I should get myself a live-in one.”

Shannon’s stomach plummeted.  He didn’t mention her at all concerning an ordinary person Sherlock had in tow.  However, it was still open for debate if she was what Moriarty had in mind for himself.

“Why are you doing all of this?” Sherlock thought aloud.

“It’d be so funny.”

“You don’t want money or power, not really.  What is it all for?”

Moriarty spoke quietly, “I want to solve the problem.  Our problem.  The final problem.”  He paused for a moment before speaking again, “It’s gonna start very soon, Sherlock: the fall.  But don’t be scared.  Falling’s just like flying except there’s a more permanent destination.”

“Never liked riddles,” Sherlock almost grumbles.

“Learn to because I owe you a fall, Sherlock.  I.  Owe.  You.”

She heard Moriarty leave quietly and the door to the flat shut.  Shannon jumped up and flew down the stairs to find Sherlock holding an apple skewered on a pen knife with IOU carved into it.

“Sherlock,” she stated as more of an announcement.  “Are you alright?”

He turned slowly with a small smile creeping up on his face.  “A puzzle.”

“Christ,” she growled as she ran toward the window.  “I didn’t know if you’d been hurt or poisoned.”

“No, that’s boring,” Sherlock reprimanded.

Shannon turned on her heel and glared.  “He _has_ poisoned you – it’s started.”  His alert eyes quickly came to and looked up at her inquisitively.  “The idea, Sherlock.  For God’s sake: he’s planted an idea.  I need you to listen to me.  You have to be careful.  There’s things that I know now and I need you to promise me in as best a way that you can that you will pay attention…”  Shannon trailed off for a moment as her mind changed gears.  “You know, I’m assuming you haven’t read or watched anything _Harry Potter_ , correct?”

“Yes,” he stated.

“It’s slightly unnerving.  In one of the books, since I am _so much younger_ that you and all,” she jabbed without mirth, “The hero has to travel into a secret chamber to find the villain.  Everything that had been going on the whole year was a ruse just to get him down there.  The villain plans on killing the hero at that point – and more or less forces the hero into self-sacrifice.  Sound familiar?”

He squinted and started to analyze her.  _She’s been out and up all night; evidence of fatigue and possible fight.  Conclusion: she will more than likely come at me if provoked.  Genuine concern apparent.  She knows information concerning Moriarty.  
_ “Shannon,” he began.

“I know you don’t want to know,” she relinquished with a sigh, “You’ll hate me if I tell you.  But I will not sit idly by and watch this tear you apart.  I’m going to be in the shadows a lot from now on until this is over.”  He seemed at a loss for words which was a rarity for him.  
“I need you to know that if I feel you are in danger, I will get you out of it as best I can and that everything will be taken care of.”

He gave a slight nod, “How did your interrogation go?”

“Fine,” she replied with a yawn.  “Moriarty should be under the impression by now that I am activated.  The code word was Xerxes.  Have at it, Sherlock.  You’ve got some time before John gets home.”

Her eyes were worried and tired, he could see that.  “There’s food in the fridge.”

“No, thank you,” she said in a sigh.  Shannon left the room and went to sit on the stairs.  Sherlock began to pace about the room deep in thought. 

When John came home, he saw Shannon leaning her head against the bannister.  “Shannon, is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” she mumbled sleepily.  “I gave him some work to do before he gets back into the Moriarty case. I think he’s in his mind palace at the moment – just as fair warning.  He was here.”

“Here?  How?”

“Picked the lock, I assume; judging by the tool marks on it.  I’ll be telling Mrs. Hudson we need new locks when she gets in.”

“Are you alright?”

“Sure.”

“Shannon, are you alright?”

“I’ll be fine, John.  I just have a lot of work to do.  I told him already, but I’m going to be out a lot for a while.  I’ve got things to wrap up and what not with the Geist thing.  It’s not that big of a deal.  But my phone will be on vibrate or silent for most of the time – just in case I don’t respond readily.”

“Question – how are Andy and O’Rourke doing?  You haven’t really talked about them much.”

She looked up at him thoughtfully, “They aren’t bad.  They’re safe.  Andy moved back home and O’Rourke and I have been working on some cases here and there from abroad.  Speaking of,” she smiled lazily, “I’ll need to finish the case I’m working on presently.”

John looked at her skeptically, “Don’t you do anything stupid.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it – that often,” she chuckled as John passed her on the stairs.  Her mind was starting to finally quiet down.  She wasn’t sure how long she’d been there or if she had dozed off at some point.  _I’m so tired.  Exhausted, more like it.  There’s so much to do this week to begin setting things in motion.  Who’s touching me?  Wait, I liked my spot on the stairs.  I just got comfy._

John had come down and helped her up off the stair to take her up to the lounge.  “Come on, you need to rest.  Come on; up you go.”  She leaned into him heavily as they ascended the staircase to get to her sofa.  Sherlock gazed almost protectively at her when John helped her onto the couch.

“We’ll be quiet while you rest.  I can’t say that I’m happy with the pair of you or with what’s going on right now – but if this is what I have to deal with right now then this soldier is going to have to deal with the both of you being arseholes.”

Shannon nodded incoherently as she rolled over on the couch and tucked herself under a blanket.  John stared over at Sherlock, “If the two of you are going to keep me out of the loop, we’re going to have a problem.”

“It’s just that,” Sherlock replied, “She hasn’t told me what’s happening or what will – just that if she feels the need to act, she will do so.”

“Why would she do something like that?  If she has the knowledge to end it all – “

Sherlock frowned, “No, not all of it – but I’m sure she has most of it unraveling in her head.  She’s playing the game now, as well.  All the pieces of the chess board and no one’s watching Shannon Byrns.”

“I don’t like the game, Sherlock.  You’re both being childish.”

“You aren’t really playing, John.”

 

Shannon slept in restless silence for most of the afternoon.  At one point, she began to mumble in her sleep and broke out into a sweat.  John had decided it best to wake her, “Shannon?”  He gently shook her shoulder, “Shannon, it’s okay now.  Wake up.”

“John,” Sherlock cautioned, “She may swing at you.  Her dream has her quite agitated.”

Shannon’s eyes shot open and she seemed to have forgotten where she was.  “It’s okay, Shannon,” John soothed, “It’s alright.  You’re here and you’re safe.  Don’t worry.  There now.”

She blinked and her eyes flitted about the room quickly digesting where she was.  “Christ,” she muttered while she sat up.  Her hands quickly rubbed the sleepiness off of her face and she yawned, “How long was I out?”

Sherlock looked over from his chair, “Three hours.”  John nodded in agreement.

“I’m sorry.  I didn’t realize I was so tired.  It was a long night.”

John pondered a moment, “You…did – did you come home last night?”

“No,” she yawned again.  “I had a good bit of work to do – so I was out and about.”

“What were you dreaming about,” John countered.

Puzzlement adorned her face, “I don’t know.”

The tall, slender man eyed her inquisitively from his seat.  _Her interrogation with Lisa set off a chain of events; more than likely causing her to feel obligated to take care of us.  Why?  She’s only been here…a month…closer to two?  Regardless, she shouldn’t feel any obligation to take care of John or me.  That’s preposterous._

“Shut up, Holmes,” Shannon jeered with a small grin.

John looked over at his friend and then back at her, “He didn’t say anything.”

“His brain – I can hear it all the way over here.  He needs to tone it down.  I have my reasons for everything; so shut up.”

Sherlock noted that she was able to make deductions faster since disabling and enacting Geist.  _It’s been two days and now she is implying that she can follow my train of thought?  Impressive – highly unlikely; but impressive nonetheless._

“Sherlock,” she warned again.  John shook his head in annoyance then went into the kitchen to make some coffee.

Disgruntled, Sherlock picked up his violin and began to improvise idly to pass the time.  Shannon sat in her spot on the couch without speaking for the rest of the night deep in thought.  It wasn’t unusual for him to be in such a mood – but her? She tended to move about all the time in her silence.  She would busy herself with cleaning, reading, or attempting to practice.  _You’re sitting there silent and frozen.  Your eyes are far away, digging somewhere in your mind.  The amount of things that could have you vexed are few and far between.  I wish that you would tell me._

Shannon snapped out of it and noticed Sherlock was staring again.  She mumbled in a stifled yawn, “In due time, Sherlock – we’ll be talking soon.”  She stood up to stretch, walked to the kitchen to make herself some tea, and walked back into the lounge to ruffle the detective’s hair before going to bed.  “Don’t stay up all night.  You’re going to need rest.”

Perplexed by her attention, he ran his hands through his hair to fix it as she walked away to the stairwell.  _If everything that she thinks is going to come to fruition; what shadow is making her distance herself from us?  Shannon, what’s lurking out in the dark?_


	9. The Albatross 'Round Your Neck

_Two Months Later_

John had left to go get money from a cash point so that they could do some of the shopping -  it was John’s turn after all.

 

_Shannon, Sherlock:_

_Mycroft sent a car for me.  Again.  
If I’m not wherever too late, I’ll still do the shopping._

_John:_

_I’m hungry.  
-SH_

_Sherlock:_

_Then you should have done a better job at  
shopping last week.  You didn’t buy enough food._

_John Watson, Sherlock Holmes:_

_I’ll be late-ish again tonight._   
_Probably won’t be home until at least_   
_seven or so._   
_Working.  New lead._   
_Leave a plate for me in the fridge._

_Shannon Byrns:_

_I hope you aren’t meddling.  
-SH_

_Sherlock Holmes:_

_Of course I am.  Butt out._   
_You don’t want me to spoil it for you,_   
_do you?_   
_I already know the answer._   
_Just shut up and let me work, ass-hat._

_Shannon Byrns:_

_That’s just juvenile, Shannon.  
-SH_

_Sherlock Holmes:_

_Look who’s talking._

_Shannon Byrns:_

_Noted.  
-SH_

_John Watson:_

_Shannon, whatever it is that you’re doing,_   
_be careful, please._   
_I don’t want to explain to Andy or O’Rourke_   
_that you decided to get yourself killed and all._

_  
Shannon:_

_John; honestly…You make me sound like the_   
_next Jason Bourne.  It’s awesome._   
_What a self-worth boost you are._

Shannon grinned at her phone and turned it back to silent as she started to head into Scotland Yard.  She had called Lestrade, Donovan, Anderson and company into a little pow-wow.  When she got to the right floor, she headed straight for Lestrade’s office where the company was all collected.

She entered quietly and closed the door behind her.  Lestrade piped up, “Alright, Shannon – what’s all this about?  You said something about having a tip from being out on the streets, yeah?”

“Or about her fling with the frrrrrr – “ Donavan halted as Shannon glared over at her.  “…frigid detective…”

Anderson took a crack, “Is he just that bad in bed or are you two trying to solve that out together?”

Lestrade groaned and rubbed his eyes.  Shannon’s smile was uncomfortable and conveyed her annoyance.  “Please, both of you sit,” she responded calmly.

Anderson chuckled.  “Thought so.”

Shannon grabbed Anderson by the neck and pulled him into a submissive pose while simultaneously taking Donovan by her wrist to their seats.  “I said SIT.  Now.  Both of you.  I have no problem putting the pair of you in your place.  Sherlock’s a bit more gracious than I am.”

“That’s assaulting a police officer!” Donovan griped as Shannon let the pair of them go into their seats.

“Is it?  I don’t think Lestrade saw anything to correlate with your claim.  Inspector?”

Lestrade opened his eyes, “What?”

“Exactly.  Now that I have your attention – we need to talk.”

Anderson flubbed, “This is a police matter.  What could possibly make you think we need you?”

“Because.  I believe that we need to discuss some parameters if I’m going to be doing a good deal of your leg work for you.  And there’s another matter to discuss.”

“What’s that?” Lestrade asked quickly.

“It’s a program called Phantom.”

 

John returned back to Baker Street to find Donovan and Lestrade in their sitting room.

“What’s going on?”

“Kidnapping,” Sherlock retorted.

“Rufus Bruhl, the ambassador to the U.S.” the Inspector replied.

John was puzzled, “He’s in Washington.  Isn’t he?”

“Not him.  His children: Max and Claudette.  Age seven and nine.”  Sally showed John pictures of the kids.  “They’re at St. Aldate’s.”

Sally Donovan added, “Posh boarding place down in Surrey.”

Lestrade looked at Sherlock as he was typing on his computer.  “The school broke up; all the other boarders went home.  Just a few kids remained, including those two.”

“The kids have vanished,” Donovan chimed in.

Lestrade gave a small sigh, “The ambassador’s asked for you personally.

Sherlock had already got up on his feet and was heading out the door.

Donovan quipped seethingly, “The Reichenbach Hero.”

“Isn’t it great to be working with a celebrity?” Lestrade added sarcastically.  John motioned for them to exit and he got in line to leave.

In the car, Sherlock began to text quickly.

 

_Shannon Byrns:_

_There’s been a kidnapping._

_Sherlock Holmes:_

_I know._   
_And you didn’t add your signature._

_Shannon Byrns:_

_You noticed._

_Sherlock Holmes:_

_Stop it._

_Shannon Byrns:_

_Where are you?_

_Sherlock Holmes:_

_I was summoned to one of Mycroft’s_   
_pleasant meeting places this morning._   
_Now I’m working._

_Shannon Byrns:_

_Don’t go to the flat._

_Sherlock Holmes:_

_Was I right?_

_Shannon Byrns:_

_Perhaps._

_Sherlock Holmes:_

_Where are you now?_

_Shannon Byrns:_

_En route to St Aldate’s in Surrey._   
_Not that you know where that is._   
_-SH_

_Sherlock Holmes:_

_There he is.  I was worried that you weren’t_   
_going to show up._   
_I’m going to pop over and have lunch_   
_with Molly later; just so that you’re aware._

_Shannon Byrns:_

_Shall I keep you informed?_   
_-SH_

_Sherlock Holmes:_

_Please do._

 

John looked over and pursed his lips, “You’re texting her a lot.”

“Don’t be jealous, John; you’re here and she’s not.”  The car hit a small pot hole and everyone jostled around.  “Besides, if Shannon is working; it is best at this point to allow her to continue her efforts because they do not hinder me or my process.”

“Sherlock, I was merely pointing out that you could have called her instead.”

“Why?  I like to text.  She gets that.”

“Yes, so do I – but the two of you haven’t really seen a whole lot of each other the past couple months.  She’s always out working and when she’s not – she’s trying to sleep.”

Sherlock shrugged, “That’s the taxing thing about her work.”

“You miss her,” John observed quietly.  “In your own way.”

Sherlock stared back out the window, “If saying so makes you feel better, John, then please continue.”

“It’s okay, Sherlock.”

“I know that it would be,” he muttered defensively.  “I need to focus John; stop with the prattling.”

 

Shannon was already at St Bart’s and waited patiently for Molly to come out of one of the autopsy rooms.  When she finally had, her friend was startled.  “Shannon.  I didn’t see you!  You’re early?  I don’t get off for at least another hour.”

“Oh, I know,” Shannon sighed heavily.

“What’s wrong?”

“Can we talk?  I need to run something by you – I’m having a dilemma.  After, I’ll come back for our lunch date, I promise.”

“Of course.  Come on into the lab.  Okay?”

The pair of them went into one of the secluded labs where Shannon placed her bag on the floor with her coat.  “I don’t even know where to begin.”

“Shannon, what’s wrong?”

She sighed again and rubbed her face hard, then ran her fingers through her hair in frustration.  “Have you ever had to do something so unforgivable just to do something right?”

Molly twitched lightly in confusion.  “No, can’t say that I have – I mean, not in those parameters, I don’t think.”

Shannon shook her head.  “Never mind that,” she groaned.  “My head’s just buzzing mad right now.  I need you to know something.  You know how I’ve been working and whatnot?”

“Yeah, of course.  But – what’s that got to do with what you said – “

“Molly,” Shannon whispered sternly as she held the small girl by the shoulders, “Sherlock may be in trouble.  Do you understand?  He’s going to need someone that he can count on.  It’s going to be you.  Do you hear me?  I don’t care what that man says or does to you, but he always counts on you.  Who does he gripe to when John and I are on his last nerve?  You!”

Molly looked down to the floor, “No, I don’t matter – not like John…or you.  Or Mrs. Hudson.  He couldn’t possibly need me.”

Shannon looked heartbroken, “I’m going to kill him before anyone else gets the chance.  Has that man ever said ‘Thank you’?”

“No – don’t do that.  I’m sure that you could, no – sorry.  But…what’s wrong?”

“I can’t tell you exactly right now.  It’s big.  But…”  Shannon looked to the ceiling with welled tears in her eyes.  “I need you.  If he’s not going to say it then I am on his and my behalf.  Molly Hooper, I need you.”

The technician was taken aback by what the woman in front of her was saying.  It was something so sincere – yet abstract.  Before she could think of something to say, Shannon had collected her things and was out the door.

Shannon was livid.  _How could Sherlock Holmes, the most observant man in the world, overlook someone so precious?_

 

_Sherlock Holmes:_

_You unobservant, mind-numbingly annoying jack ass._

_Shannon Byrns:_

_Now what have I allegedly done?_   
_-SH_

_Sherlock Holmes:_

_Molly Hooper.  That’s what._

_Shannon Byrns:_

_I need a little more to go on than name-calling._   
_Remember?  You’re helping by not helping._   
_-SH_

_Sherlock Holmes:_

_I know that you’re going to end up at St_   
_Bart’s after you leave Surrey.  I want you_   
_to seriously consider how you view that girl._   
_She’s marvelous._   
_You’re the most observant man in the world._   
_OBSERVE!_

_Shannon Byrns:_

_I’m not interested in dating Molly Hooper, Shannon._   
_This is annoying me.  I’m trying to solve a case._   
_-SH_

_Sherlock Holmes:_

_I’m not trying to set you up, you twit._   
_That girl has done everything that you’ve_   
_ever asked of her._   
_She gives up everything so that you can work._   
_You don’t see what an asset you have._   
_I strongly suggest you think about that before_   
_you get here or so help me God, I’ll kill you._   
_I put all the pieces in front of you all_   
_this time and you haven’t fucking noticed!_

Sherlock sat in uncomfortable silence after he finished reading Shannon’s last message.  The cab ride was bothering him and he welcomed John’s end to the silence.

“But how did he get past the CCTV?  If all the doors were locked…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that you all enjoy this installment. As a notice, I'm going to London for two weeks and there won't be an update in that time.
> 
> Feel free to leave me some love and comments; and I promise to answer back to one and all!


	10. My Crumbling Cathedral

_At St Bart’s_

“You look sad,” she said pitifully, “When you think he can’t see you.”  Sherlock looked over at his friend and then to Molly.  “Are you okay?”  He went to speak but she persisted.  “And don’t just say you are.  Because I know what that means: looking sad when you think no one can see you.”

Sherlock was puzzled slightly, “You can see me.”

“I don’t count.”

 _‘The most observant man in the world’ she said.  Oh Shannon – you have made me open my own wound._   He was dumbstruck.  How could she not realize that she counted?

“What’ I’m trying to say is that…if there’s anything I can do – anything you need – anything at all, you can have me.”  She grimaced, “No, I just mean… I mean if there’s anything you need…” she quickly shook her head, “It’s fine.”

“W-what…what could I need from you?”  He felt exposed.  Shannon had obviously got to Molly before their lunch date and had dropped a hint to her about something.  But all of this at once – it gutted him.  He had always trusted Molly – there was never a question.  _How can she possibly not know that?_

“Nothing,” she shrugged.  “I don’t know.  You could probably say ‘thank you’, actually.”

He faltered a moment, “Thank you.”  _Why is saying thank you so foreign to me?_

Molly walked behind him, “I’m just going to go and get some crisps.  Do you want anything?”  Sherlock opened his mouth but she interrupted him, “It’s okay – I know you don’t.”

“Well, actually, maybe I’ll…”

“I know you don’t,” she said sadly as she left the room.

_Damn it, Shannon.  What have you done?  What are you up to?  Think, Sherlock, think!  I’ve been so preoccupied with what Moriarty has been doing that I have neglected getting information from you.  The chessboard is in motion and I feel like my view is restricted: you can see the entire board.  We need to discuss.  You are flying faster than I can hope to catch you.  Why?  What are you doing?  Is it really necessary to make me feel all of this considering what’s coming – is that it?_

Later that night, Shannon sat quietly at her desk in her room at Baker Street writing things down in a notebook.  She looked weary; the weight of the world was weighing heavily down on her shoulders.  The front door slammed shut as she heard Sherlock and John come home and quickly go upstairs.  There was frantic grumbling coming from Sherlock.  She could hear the underlying alarm in his voice.  Suddenly, he was bounding down the stairs and noticed that her door was open.

He slowly pushed the door open and found her sitting with her head in her hands.  “What happened tonight?” she asked without moving.  “The quick version, please.”

“Went to St Bart’s, had my feelings gutted; thanks for that.”

“You keep tell me you don’t have feelings, Sherlock,” she grimaced.

His lip twitched faintly in agitation, “Found the children in an abandoned factory, terrified a child, got into a cab that Moriarty was driving to be shown a quaint little video, and got saved from being hit by a car by an Albanian who happened to be shot and killed after.  More than certain that I’ll be arrested tonight.”

Shannon turned her head to look up at him, “My day wasn’t that bad – at least in some respects.”

He took note of her appearance and everything that he could infer from her recent adventures.  “The WI-FI networks…”

“I know,” she interrupted.

“It was you then, wasn’t it?”  She furrowed her brow in confusion.  “You tipped Mycroft off about the people who have moved in.”

“Yes,” she breathed.  “It had to be done.”

“Shannon, I demand that you tell me what’s going on.”

She stood up gingerly and walked to her dresser for a sweater.  She pulled her oversized shirt up and over her head; and, Sherlock could see bruising up and down her back from what was visible under her tank top.

“Are you sure?” she asked as the slowly started to pull the sweater over her head.

He closed the distance between them and examined her bruising quickly.  “These bruises are fairly fresh.  Your torso is wrapped, indicating you’ve got bruising or broken ribs.  What happened?”

She shrugged.  She could feel his fingers probing at her shoulders.  “You’ve got one less gangster–assassin hanging about.  I’m fine.”  She pulled the sweater down and turned around to face him.  “I haven’t seen you in a while; I’m sorry about that.”

“Moriarty is going to try to burn me.”

“Yes.”

“You don’t believe it… even with all the _evidence_?”

“Neither does John.”

“That’s different.”

“No it’s not,” she said thoughtfully.  “Not really.”

“Why?”

“Hope.  That’s my idea.  I believe in you.  And I know that you’ll have this figured out.  I don’t even know the exact end game just yet.  I’m close – but it’s still just out of reach.”

He bit the inside of his cheek while he digested what she said.  “Geist has turned you into something more, hasn’t it, even inactive?”

She nodded, “A bit.  Off you go.  Go grab Mrs. Hudson.  You mumbled something about it on your way down.”

Sherlock hesitated at her doorway, “It’s all going to be clear soon, Shannon.”

“I’m sure it will be.”

“You don’t have to worry,” he said.

“But I do,” she retorted with a sad smile, “Because you’re worried, too.  I’m doing what I can, Sherlock.  And I’ll explain everything to you very soon, I promise.”

His eyes flashed and in an instant, he was gone.  Her gut was telling her that it was to begin: tonight.

Lestrade came and went; then a plethora of police and cars showed up.  _Oh, Moriarty – that is good, you bastard.  Forcing Lestrade into all of this… to turn the world against Sherlock.  You bastard._

First, the detective was taken away, presumably in handcuffs.  She heard a mild shuffle up above and heard John’s gait down the stairs.  When all were outside, she left the confines of her room and went up to the lounge.  She peeked out the window and watched with sadness as the events unfolded.  Sherlock reached into the car to more than likely play with the radio and grabbed the officer’s hand gun.

“Ladies and gentlemen, will you all please get on your knees?”  He fired off twice.  “Now would be good!”

“Do as he says!” Lestrade hollered.

The boys were cuffed together and John piped up, “J-just so you’re aware, the gun is his idea.  I’m just…uh….you know…”

“MY HOSTAGE!” Sherlock announced loudly pointing the gun at John.

“Hostage, yes, that works.  That works!”

Shannon had to chuckle in light of the gravity of their situation.  Only could the pair of them be okay with a gun pointed at one of their heads and being claimed as a hostage.

“Run, boys, you have to run,” she whispered.

Sherlock looked up to the window quickly and saw her nod.  “So…what now?” John asked briskly.

“Doing what Moriarty wants,” he replied looking about, “I’m becoming a fugitive.  Run!”

She sighed again.  It had begun.  Shannon went back into her room and stood at her dresser.  “You know, I would have sent an invitation for you if I wanted to meet you.  Ever.”

“Well, that’s no way to say hello, now is it?” cooed the shadow figure sitting on her couch.  “Especially since I’m such a fan.”

“James Moriarty, what an unpleasant surprise.”

“You are good, Shannon Byrns.  But that’s no way to talk to Daddy.”

Shannon leaned against the wall nonchalantly and faced him.  “No, Daddy’s right here,” she gestured to herself, “And she’s been working.  But if the neighbor-girl wants to play, she can’t right now.”

He stood up with a smile on his face, “You’ve taken great care to stay out of my way – my pets outside didn’t even know you lived here.  They never see you upstairs.”

“I’m working.  That’s why.”

“Are you sure,” he asked jovially.  “Or are you trying to dodge the camera that I had put up there?”  His tone grew dark.

Shannon crossed her arms in mock protest, “Please.  I knew the day it was installed.”

“You didn’t say anything to Sherlock,” he seethed.

“No,” she said matter-of-factly to hide the lie, “That would be breaking the rules of the game.”

He stood up and closed the distance between them, “Good.  Now, I have a schedule to keep.  Follow your programming like a good soldier.  After he’s nothing – and I mean nothing, you and I will be talking about your next set of objectives.  I like the sass on you.  It’s endearing.  I may keep you a bit.”

She groaned, “Only if you wear the leash.”

“Buh-byeee,” he jeered loudly as he left.

Shannon stood silent until she was sure that he was gone.  Her legs buckled out from beneath her and she found herself crying.  She didn’t know why the tears kept falling.  But killing him now would ultimately seal their fate.  She hated herself.

 

“Sherlock?” John asked as they were standing in the street outside Kitty Riley’s apartment.

Sherlock remembered Shannon’s last text.

_‘You don’t see what an asset you have._  
 _I strongly suggest you think about that before_  
 _you get here or so help me God, I’ll kill you._  
 _I put all the pieces in front of you all_  
 _this time and you haven’t fucking noticed!’_

 

 _If I see you again, I could kiss you.  How did you know?  You are so clever.  Oh, Shannon, you are so clever.  Look at you!  All of the world at your disposal and yet here you are helping me.  Boring, slow me._  
“Something I need to do.”

“What, can I help?”

“No.  On my own.”

 

Shannon stood across the street from St Bart’s as she watched Sherlock hurry inside.  _There you have it, Holmes.  There you are._

Molly came out of the back room of the lab, switched off the lights, and was ready to call it a night.  When she reached for the handle, Sherlock spoke up.  “You’re wrong, you know.”   
 _‘I know that you’re going to end up at St Bart’s after you leave Surrey.’  
_ “You do count.  You’ve always counted and I’ve always trusted you.”  
 _‘You’re the most observant man in the world.  OBSERVE!’_

He turned to face her, “But you were right, I’m not okay.”  
‘ _That girl has done everything you’ve ever asked of her.’_

“Tell me what’s wrong,” Molly commanded as best she could.

 _‘You don’t see what an asset you have.’  
_ “Molly, I think I’m going to die.”

“What do you need?” she replied quickly.

‘ _I strongly suggest you think about that before you get here…’_  
“If I wasn’t everything that you think I am…everything that I think I am – would you still want to help me?”

“What do you need?” she asked quietly.  Everything that she was, is, and could be was now at his disposal if it meant saving his life.

 _‘I put all the pieces in front of you all this time and you haven’t fucking noticed!’_  
“You.”

 

Very early in the morning, Shannon sat in the lab at St Bart’s with Sherlock on the floor.  He’d been bouncing a ball off the cupboard in front of him for some time while they waited for John to come in.  The musician and detective discussed their plans with each other vaguely and stopped when John walked in.  Then, the boys discussed the matter at hand concerning what Moriarty could have left in 221B.

Sherlock had a moment of clarity, took out his phone, and texted him:

 

_Come and play._  
 _Bart’s Hospital rooftop._  
 _-SH_

_PS.  Got something_  
 _of yours you might want back._

 

He sent the message, stood up, and looked over at Shannon.  _Oh, Shannon, you are very good._ “That’s it then?  Everything’s taken care of?”

She nodded solemnly, “That’s all I’ve got for you.”  _You figured out my big puzzle.  I wish I was happy about that.  I wish…_

“What are you two on about?  I don’t like not knowing,” John growled.

“Shannon’s going to explain what she’s been doing for the past two months.  I don’t think you’re going to like it, John.”

She cleared her throat, “If I knew of any way that this could have been different… but you’ve already thought of that and how it can’t be.”

“Hello?  Still here.  Still doesn’t know what’s going on,” the doctor pointed to himself.

Shannon heaved a clearing sigh, took another deep breath, and started.  “Over the past two months, I’ve been behind Moriarty at just about every turn.  I couldn’t catch up enough.  But what I could do was leave a series of traps, clues, barriers… things that would come to light eventually and be useful.”

John snapped, “So you’ve known this whole damn time and you said nothing?!”

“Not the whole time, of course, John.  But long enough.”  Sherlock stood stoically still while John fumed. 

“But the thing of it was that if he ever got an inkling of proof that I was following morality rather than insanity, he would have come after you in an instant, killed you, and more than likely had me reset.”

“That was a complication that we couldn’t afford to come to fruition,” Sherlock added knowingly.

“Geist isn’t just about me.  It’s about what I can do.  I can disappear and no one would ever remember knowing me.”

John huffed in disbelief, “Good luck with that.  I don’t know if you’ve met us, but we’re your friends.  We’re not that likely to forget you!”  Shannon and Sherlock stood silent.  “Sherlock?  She can’t be serious.  You…y-you realize that, even if it were possible, you would have to wipe all our memories AND wipe yourself from CCTV, the Yard…everything!”

Shannon looked to the floor and Sherlock added quietly, “The most powerful weapon in the world that could turn organizations and governments inside out without the slightest bit of evidence.”

“But you’re inactive!” John yelled.  His voice caught in his throat, “You…you said you’re inactive!”

“I am…to Moriarty’s pre-programming.  But I know how to use it.  And I have been.”

“Lisa?” Sherlock asked.

She nodded, “I started with her to see if I could do it.  And it went off without a hitch.  I created a whole new identity and a set of memories for her.”

John rubbed his face in agitation, “You’re telling me that you’re going to just make us forget you.  For what?  Because we’re a liability to you?”

“Yes – no… I’m doing it because I’m the liability to _you_.  You can’t know me!”

Sherlock looked to John plainly, “She’s been using Phantom and Geist on us for the past two months.”

“Everything that you need is at your feet.  I just can’t be.  He’ll kill you.”

“There’s – there’s Lestrade,” John spat.  “You’re telling me that he’s been taken care of?  Th-that you just wiped yourself from his memory after he tried to ask you out on a date?”

Shannon looked up at him, defeated, “Call him.”

John pulled out his mobile and called Greg, frantically asking questions about Shannon.

Sherlock looked back at her, “If Moriarty knows that you’re helping, he will come after you.”

“You forgetting me is part of the plan.  Because then you have no one that knows the full story on your side.  You’ll be lost.  Burned.   Alone.  Sherlock…”

Sadness crept into his face, “Without you, who would there be to corroborate my story?  You disappear, I am a fraud.”

John spun around, “He’s pretending he’s never heard of you.”

“Call Mrs. Hudson,” she commanded deflated.

He did so, and was bewildered when she said no one had been living in the basement apartment.  John looked disgusted, betrayed, and horrified.

“No one,” she said firmly, “Can know.  My furniture will be moved out tonight when no one’s home.”

Sherlock took a moment while she and John were bickering to think of how she’d done it.  The entire time John was arguing with Shannon, she kept thinking about all that she’d had to do to the people she held close to her over the past three months.

 

_“Mycroft, your brother’s in danger.  You and I both know that there’s only one thing to do.”_

_“You disappearing and enacting a phase of Geist is not what I had in mind.  Do you have any idea what that kind of betrayal would or could do to him?”_

_“You should know.  You’re the one that’s messed up big time.”_

_“I can’t just forget things, Shannon, that’s my job.  Besides, I have CCTV.”_

_“No, you had it.  Because twenty minutes ago, you fell into a hypnotic state and gave me the access I required to go in and plant altered footage.  Check it yourself if you don’t believe me.  Look at your watch, for God’s sake.”_

_Skeptical, Mycroft glanced at his watch and saw he was missing half an hour.  He logged into his network and pulled footage she should have been in.  She was gone._

_“When?” he conceded hesitantly._

_“At the end; to take the last of me out.  I want you to experience the self-hatred and guilt in full force before I wipe myself from you.  
“I made my visa disappear.  Essentially, I’ll have not even been on your radar the last four months.  I can assume that John will figure this out.  He is smarter than you both give him credit for.  You best think about that when it comes to light.  You, Mycroft, have destroyed your brother – all for what? A piece of code that doesn’t exist!  HE BAITED YOU!”_

_“And my baby brother?” he asked too quickly, betraying his cool exterior._

_“I’ll save him.”_

 

_“My dear Scotland Yard, you’re going to forget that I exist.”_

_“Hard that,” Anderson scowled._

_“Honestly, you are.  Because when I walk out this door – none of you will know who I am.”_

_Lestrade groaned, “What are you playing at?”_

_“I’m trying to save a life, Greg.  And so are you.  You two can go to hell.  I can see it in you already.  But you, Greg.  You are so much more.”  Anderson and Donovan looked to each other skeptically.  
“The sad part is, that I am choosing not to stop you,” Shannon snarled as she got in Donovan’s face._

 

_“Mrs. Hudson, please.  I need you to focus for a second.  I know they just took Sherlock and John.  I’ll take care of it!”_

_“You’re such a good girl, Shannon.  What would they boys do without you?”_

_Shannon looked sideways, “Mrs. Hudson, I need you to listen to what I have to say very carefully because it’s important.  Sherlock and John will depend on you to have listened.”_

 

_“Molly, I need to run something by you.  Remember what I said earlier?”_

_“Yeah.”_

_“I need to know that I’m doing the right thing.  I need to have someone else hear my thoughts and weigh in on what I’ve done,” Shannon choked out._

_Molly grew concerned, “What’s wrong?”_

_“I’m sure Sherlock told you about Geist,” she began.  Molly nodded in acknowledgement.  “In the past two months, my mind has opened up.  Quickly; and it’s vast.  I’m not active – at least not in the sense that I am under Moriarty’s control and such – but…” Shannon trailed off as she began pacing._

_Molly stood very still.  The silence was deafening and then Shannon cried out, “Why did I have to find you?  All of you!  You are all so beautiful and wonderful people and look at me!”  She spun on her heel, yelling at the empty room.  “Look at me and what I’ve become!  I am the monster in the night!  I am everything that I have ever loathed in my lifetime.”_

_Molly thought to speak, but opted to stay quiet.  She didn’t know if she was breathing in the tension-ridden air.  Shannon was so emotionally raw that Molly didn’t know what was going to happen._

_Shannon looked at her with tears threatening to fall from her eyes.  “And you!” she whispered loudly, “Beautiful, stunning Molly Hooper.  You became my friend.”  Her voice was harsh and pained.  “It’s not fair!” she screamed out._

_“Shannon, you’re scaring me,” Molly spoke up, finally.  “What’s happened?”_

_Shannon looked over to her slowly and covered her mouth.  “By the end of the night, you won’t remember me.”_

_“W – wh – wait….what?”_

_Shannon nodded slowly in shame as she continued to speak.  She felt as if her voice was strangling her.  “Over the past two months, I’ve been planting Geist like information into you all so that Moriarty can’t use me to harm any of you.  That was part of his game.  But I’m playing to win.  I changed the rules.  
“Sherlock needs you, Molly.  I need you to help me save him.  But by the time I leave here now, you won’t remember this conversation – you will just have an inane drive to do whatever it is that you can to help him because I’ve given you all everything that you need.”_

_“All of us?” she asked in shock._

_“Yes.”  Shannon hung her head in shame._

_“John and Sherlock?”_

_She looked up after clearing her throat, “They’re next.”_

_Molly walked slowly to her friend and opened her arms.  Shannon held her tightly.   “Shannon, it’s okay. It’ll be okay.  We’ll get Sherlock and figure this out.  I can’t forget you.  I won’t!”_

_“No, Molly, you will.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ladies and gentlemen, we are approaching the end.
> 
> I'm going to for warn you: you might want tissues for the next update.
> 
> And any and all comparisons to Moffat and Gatiss would be justified.


	11. Exclusion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have tissues. 
> 
>  
> 
> You're warned.

Shannon had stopped arguing with John some time ago.  Sherlock looked over to her in the tense silence and his voice faltered.  “How far,” he cleared his throat quietly, “How far back will you be gone?”

“Five months,” she said morosely.  “To just before Matt died.  I’ll have never even been a blip on your radar.”

“But Mycroft,” John interrupted.

She looked up sharply, “He will be dealt with last, John.  Don’t you worry.  I know.”

The detective grew more solemn with each passing second.  _That’s the game, then.  That’s all of it.  Everything that has been planned is set into motion and now… I will have never known her.  No verbal sparring, no nagging, no brilliant deductions, no synaethesia, no Phantom, no Geist, no fights – no friend.  That’s it.  That’s what’s paining me.  I’ll have lost a friend that knows my mind well enough to know my boundaries and limits.  I’ll be losing a friend who is not only my opposite – but my equal.  Shannon Byrns: my friend._

Sherlock squinted at her in thought, “I assume that if you have a key to lock us out of these memories, you also made a key that can open them again?”

She closed her eyes and nodded.  “ _Should_ everything go off like it’s supposed to and the collateral damage is minimal, yes – it wouldn’t be for long.  But at the same time; I have to protect you and I refuse to jeopardize your lives for selfishness.”

He frowned.  John was fed up with the pair of them.  “Selfishness?  You’re the one being selfish!  I won’t let you do it,” he said firmly.  “I won’t.  I can’t.  I will not let my mind forget you.  He won’t forget you.  Not him.  Mind palace and all.”  John pointed at his friend and then back to her as if trying to convince himself that none of this was going to happen.

She looked over at him with lowered eyes, “I’ve already been in there.  My key removes me from there in an instant.  Every room.”  She turned to the detective, “I checked.  I had to be thorough.  There will be a room that you know about that has memories in it.  If all goes well, I may be able to guide you to it.  But…there’s a chance you’ll never remember.”

“Of course.  That’s obvious.”

“OBVIOUS!?” John bellowed.

“If I could have just put myself in a coma and hoped for the best,” she strained, “I would have – but as long as you have conscious memory of me and he’s alive, I could be used to destroy you.  Until I figure out how to completely eliminate that programming from my head...”  Her face kept on betraying her and contorted into pain as she continued.  “I wish that I could forget with you.  I wish…I wish that this didn’t have to happen and I’m so sorry for what’s coming.”  She locked eyes with John.  “I can’t stop it now.  But everything’s been taken care of, Sherlock,” she glanced up at the detective, “I promise.”

John frowned and bit his lip as he watched his friend wither before him.  “Is it a word we know?”

She sniffled, “You might know the key that locks – but you don’t know the word that unlocks.  I made it up and have only said it when I was programming you two.  Sherlock said he didn’t know anything about this book – so I chose it specifically for the pair of you.”

Sherlock stood there still as could be.  He felt his heart again.  It was ripping to pieces.  _Oh, what an unpleasant surprise – I do happen to have a heart._

“What will happen?”  John choked out.  “Is there – pain or anything?”

Her lip quivered at his manner of giving consent.  “Uh – I’ll give the key word to you and you may blank out for a bit.  But you will continue on as if I was never here… I’ll have never met you.  It doesn’t hurt.  I promise.  It just hurts right now because we’re connected.”

John closed the distance between them and hugged her tightly.  “I won’t forget.  You watch.  We can’t.  You’re family!  It’ll be your first failure!”  She buried her face into his coat.

_John, I can’t cry.  I have to do this.  I have to be strong enough.  The world needs you all._ He stepped back and wiped away the wetness from his eyes.

She turned and looked at her best friend.  _He is, isn’t he?  He’s my best friend.  Was.  He was…was my best friend._

Slowly, he walked over to her, placed his hands carefully on either side of her ears and gingerly placed a kiss to her forehead.  “I believe,” he said low enough that only she could hear, “In Shannon Byrns.”  She closed her eyes to try and mask her agony.  _You’re my equal, Shannon.  And now you’ll be gone.  I won’t remember you unless you come back.  That’s it, Sherlock, you genius.  That is everything.  Everything that she should ever need to hear from you.  Everything that you could ever hope to say without screwing it up… She knows.  You’ve said everything – now let her go._

The tightness in her chest was suffocating her.  The emotion in his voice was destroying her resolve.  He backed away from her, stood next to John and gave a slight nod.

Tears fell from her eyes as she focused on trying to calm her voice.

“I believe in Shannon Byrns,” he repeated so that his partner could hear.  His voice had shaken just enough that his partner noticed.  John’s facial features fell as he realized at that moment the serious nature of what was about to happen.  Holmes’ eyes were pained and glassy.  _I can’t forget.  I can’t forget.  I won’t forget.  I can’t.  I won’t.  I need you, too, Shannon Byrns.  I won’t.  Shannon.  Shannon Byrns.  The trumpet player.  The sarcastic asshole.  My friend.  Shannon?_

_I can see everything.  You can’t hide this pain from me, Sherlock Holmes.  You, unfortunately, are ripping my soul to shreds before I have to go.  Quite right, you know.  I deserve it.  Sherlock – I’m going to need you and you won’t be there.  Christ – what am I going to do?_  
Tears wouldn’t stop falling down her face, but her voice was absolute, “Obliviate.”


	12. Tolling of the Bells

Shannon ran as fast as she could from St Bart’s.  There was no telling how much time Sherlock would actually have before his mind jump started again.  Dawn was creeping into the sky quickly.  She needed to get to another rooftop and listen to see if it all worked.  There she sat in wait on a nearby roof with some of her equipment to hear Sherlock and Moriarty’s discussion.

“Beats like digits,” Sherlock responded curtly.  “Every beat is a one – every rest is a zero: binary code.  That’s why all those assassins tried to save my life.  It was hidden on me…hidden inside my head: a few lines of computer code that can break into any system.”

Moriarty got frustrated, “No, no, no, no, no!  This is too easy!  There _IS_ no key, doofus!  Those digits are meaningless.  They’re utterly meaningless!”  His voice grew edgier, “You really don’t think a couple of lines of _computer code_ are going to crash the world around our ears?  I’M DISAPPOINTED!”

Shannon felt ashamed.  _A few lines of computer code can’t do it.  But I can.  I can do all of that.  But I didn’t.  No.  It wasn’t me.  But he knows that I can.  Oh, Sherlock; John…  I am so sorry._

 “Your friends will die if you don’t,” Moriarty taunted.

“John?”

“Not just John…everyone.”

“Mrs. Hudson?”

“Everyone.”

“Lestrade.”

“Three bullets – three gunmen – three victims.  There’s no stopping them now.”

She was done.  Mission accomplished: her best friend no longer knew who she was.  _No more.  No more heart ache than what I’ve just been given.  I can’t_.   
She couldn’t endure what was about to happen; it was going to hurt too much.  She unplugged her earpiece and left.  _It’s coming.  You know that._

With her teeth set on edge and anger flowing in her veins, she headed straight for Mycroft.

 

“I hope you’re happy,” she growled with hot tears streaming down her face.  “You put your brother in disgrace.”

Mycroft sat at his desk silent.  “Shannon, I –“

“You don’t get to speak,” she spat.  “After what Matt has done to me?  After all of that and you had gone ahead and done the same thing to him?  I hope that your guilt sits with you long after I leave.  I want it to fester, plan or not – that this is not how it should have happened.”

“You are the only person in the world that has the power to do what you’re doing right now,” he insisted.  “Everything that you’re doing; it can topple governments!  Look at you!”

“And yet I chose to _save_ your brother!”  Her chest heaved in anger while she paused.  The loudness of her voice was terrifying, “I am going into hiding until the ripples have calmed.  Believe it or not, but he is… was my best friend.  I hope that you realize what you’ve made me do and that I don’t ever plan on forgiving you!” she bellowed.

“Please understand,” he began pleadingly.  The elder Holmes was doing his best to try and remain calm to smooth things over as best as possible.  He knew that his endeavors were failing.  _Any moment now, she’s going to disappear.  She is far too emotional to let this continue._

Her eyes flashed in anger and she took a sharp, quick breath, “Noctem!”

Mycroft sat blank before her.  “Let that guilt simmer, Mycroft,” she whispered into his ear as she entered codes onto Mycroft’s network and changed the records on his computer.

She left quickly and quietly to head out into the world; hiding her face everywhere that she went.  There was so much still to do – so much that had to be accounted for. 

 

She hung about the cemetery and observed as John broke down.  _Sherlock has to be around here.  He has to be._

Once the coast was clear she stood before his headstone.  “I’m sorry that I couldn’t have done more.  I’m sorry that I couldn’t be more.  But God, I miss you.  One day, Mister Holmes.  One day if I’m lucky.  I hope to know you again.  It’s not always fun, knowing…”  She set down a small folded noted at the base of the stone and walked away.

When the coast was clear Sherlock walked to his headstone and picked the note out of the grass.  Carefully he unfolded the paper as he walked out of the cemetery.  When he got into his car, he opened the neatly folded paper, and read the unique print on the page.  It was a page ripped from a book, he’d have to do some mild research into its exact origin, but the writing read _I believe in Sherlock Holmes_.

He frowned and furrowed his brow.  _Who else would or could possibly know?  Who are you?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that, ladies and gentlemen, is that.


End file.
